'C?Si^^ 


THE 


.      A 


EOMAÎTCE 


OP   A 


Poor  Young  Man 


A  NEWLY  REVISED  AND  CORRECTED  EDITION. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET. 


RICHMOND: 
WEST  &  JOHNSTON, 

»    1863. 


IV"  ^lr«h> 


George  Washington  Flowers 
Memorial  Collection 

DUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 


ESTABLISHED  BY  THE 

FAMILY  OF 

COLONEL  FLOWERS 


^^^//è^^ 


> 


A  NEWLY  REVISED  AN}3  GORB.ECTKD  EDITION 


TRANSLATED  FROM   THE  FRE^X'H  OF 


OCTAVE   FEUILLET, 


RICHMOND.       ' 

WEST    k    ,?  O  ÎÎ  N  '^  T  0  N 


,\\v^i%^^V> 


<^. 


"> 


>ti.CÏARLANE  A  FJ;r.'.US30.V.  PniKTaP.8. 


-/.- 


THE 

PiOMANCE  OF  A  POOR  YOUNG  MAN. 


SURSUM   CORDA — LIFT   UP  YOUR   HEARTS 


Paris,  April  20,  185 -. 

This  js  the  second  night  I  have  passed  in  thià  wretched  chani'ber; 
gazing  with  vacant  eycp  into  the  empty  fireplace,  listening  unconscious- 
ly to  the  noises  in  the  street — a  feeling  more  lonely  in  this  great  city, 
more  desolate  and  despairing  than  that  of  the  shipwrecked  mariner  on 
his  piece  ot  plank  in  mid-ocean.  Away  with  this  weakness!  I  will  look 
uiy  destiny  in  the  face,  and  thus  deprive  it  of  its  spectral  air  ! 

I  will  also  open  my  heart  to  the  only  confidant  whose  pity  will  not 
offend  me,  io  this  last*  friend  whom  I  see  in  my  Icoking-glass.  I  will 
write  my  thoughts,  and  my  life,  not  with  a  puerile  minuteness,  but 
■without  any  serious  omission,  and  especially  withoat  fi\lsehood.  I  will 
love  this  journal  j  it  shall  be  like  a  fraternaff  echo  which  shall  delude 
my  solitude,  and  it  f-hall  be  at  the  same  time,  a  second  conscience  warn- 
ing  me  to  do  nothing  of  which  I  cannot  write  with  a  firm  hand. 

I  row  recall  with  a  sad  eagerness  a  thousand  incidents  in  ii;y  life,  the 
meaning  of  which  I  should  have  understood  long  ago,  had  not  my  eyes 
been  shut  by  filial  respect,  and  the  indifference  of  a  happy  idleness. 
The  constant  and  profoulid  melancholy  of  my  mother  is  explained  to 
me;  I  also  understand  her  distaste  of  the  world  and  her  simple  dress, 
the  object  of  so  much  raillery  and  even  anger  on  mj  father's  part  ; 
''You  look  like  a  servant,"  he  once  said  to  her. 

Our  domestic  life  was  often  disturbed  by  serious  disputes  between 
my  father  and  mother,  though  I  was  never  an  actual  witnesser  of  them, 
liis  irritated  and  imperious  tones,  my  mothers  supplicating  voice  i:i 
reply,  and  her  atifflcl  sobs,  were  all  I  could  hear. 

1  attributed  these  quarrels  to  my  father's  vicient  and  fruitless  efforta 
to  reawaken  in  my  mother  a  taste  for  scenes  of  gaiety  and  display, 
which  she  had  once  loved  as  much  as  one  of  her  gentle  nature  couid 
love  them,  but  into  which  she  accompanied  my  father  with  more  and 
more  repugnance.  After  each  of  these  periodical  disputes,  my  father 
seldom  failed  to  buy  some  bcautifcil  article  of  jewelry,  which  my  moth- 
er would  find  placed  under  her  napkin  at  table,  but  which  she  never 
\Tore.     One  day  in  the  middle  of  winter  she  received  from  Parw  a 


•^  The  Momar.ce  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

lavge  bcki  of  jewels;  sîie  thunked  my  father  for  the  <>ift  "with  grertt 
warinth,  but  vvhen  ho  had  left  the  room,  I  saw  her  clasp  her  hari'ls 
■with  a  look  of  utter  despair.  , 

During'  my  childhood  and  early  growth  I  had-great  respect  but  little 
aflfcctioa  for  my  father..  I  knew  only  the  gloomy  side  of  his  charac- 
ter; it  was  that  only  which  he  exhibited  in  private  life,  for  which  l.e 
was  so  little  fitted.  But  when  I  was  old  enough  to  go  with  him  into  so- 
•ciety,  I  was  surprised  and  delif:hted  to  find  him  a  totally  different  being, 
whose  existence  I  had  not  suspected.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  under 
some  spell  when  at  home;  once  outside  the  walls  of  our  old  chateau, 
his  face  would  light  up,  his  chest  wonld  expand,  and  ho  was  young 
again.  "Come,  Maximilian,"  he  would  say,  "now  for  a  gallop!" 
And  we  would  dash  gaily  forward,-  with  joyous  shouts. 

Plis  boyish  enthusiasm,  his  witty  fancies,  charmed  my  young  heart, 
and  I  xiften  wi.^hcd  to  be  able  to  carry  a  portion  of  our  happiness  to 
niy  poor  mother,  forgotten  in  lier  chamber  corner.. 

The  love  I  began  to  feel  for  my  father  became  most  enthusiastic  ad- 
miration when  1  saw  him  in  the  gay  world  :  whether  hunting,  driviiitr, 
at  ba-lls,  or  dinner  parties,  his  finished  elegance  and  polished  wit  made 
liim  shine  on  all  occasions. 

An  adniirablc  horseman,  &  skilful  player,  a  brilliant  talker,  coura- 
geous and  openhanded,  Ï  looked  upon  him  as  a  perfect  type  of  martjy 
grace  anxl  chivalry.  lie  called  himself  with  a  bitter  sniilo,  "  the  laeî 
gentleman."  Such  was  my  father  in  society;  at  our  own  fireside,  my 
mother  and  I  his  fole  companions,  he  was  a  restless,  stern  and  passion- 
ate old  man.  .  » 

The  transports  of  anger  that  rny  father  displayed  towards  one  so 
gentle  and  delicate  as  my  mothej-,  would  have  shocked  me,  had  they 
not  been  followed  by  rodonbled  tenderness,  and  the  affectionate  atten- 
tions of  which  I  Tiave  already  spoken.  Justified 'in  my  eyes  by  these 
toke«is  of  repentance,  my  father  seemed  to  me  a  man  wliose  natural 
good- temper  was  exasperated  by  an  obstinate  and  systematic  opposition 
to  his  tastes  and  prejudices.  I  believe  my  mother  afliicted  with  sonift 
nervous  disease;  niy  father  had  intimated  as  much  to  me,  though  with 
a  reserve  v^hich  I  respected. 

I  could  not  so  clearly  define  to  myself  the  sentiment  with  which  my 
mother  regarded  my  father.  She  would  gaze  on  him  with  an  expres- 
sion of  severity  and  reproach,  but  an  instant  ai'terward  her  beautilul 
eyes  v/ould  moisten,  her  sweet  fticc  would  wear  a  look  of  the  tendcrest 
devotion. 

My  mother  was  married  at  fiffcen,  and  I  was  in' my  twenty-second 
year  when  my  sister,  my  popr  Helen,  was  born.  One  hiornln^,  a  thors 
time  after  her  birth,  my  father  came  from  my  mtyther's  sick-room  with 
an  anxious  countenance,  and  beckoned  me  to  fodow  him  into  the  gar- 
den. After  taking  two  or  three  turns  up  and  down  in  silence,  he  sto|>- 
ped  suddenly  and  addressed  me:  "  3Iaximilian!  your  mother  grows 
more  and  more  peculiar!" 

"  She  is  a  great  sufferer,  dear  father  " 

"  Yes,  doubtless,  but  she  has  now  taken  a  strange  whim;  she  wishes 
you  to  eomuQence  the  .study  of  law." 


The  Ronmnes  of  \i  Poor   Young  Man.  5 

"  Study  law  Î  How  can  inj  mother  wish  me,  with  my  birth  and  po- 
sition, to  <,'o  to  $chool  again  !     That  ^^oukl  be  ridiculous." 

"  lagree  with  you/'. said  my  either  coldly;  "but  your  mother  is  ill, 
that  is  all." 

I  wa.s  a  coxcomb,  proud  of  my  name,  of  my  importance,  and  my  suc- 
cess in  society,  but  I  adored  my  mother,  between  whom  and  myself 
there  existed  the  warmest  sympathy,  and  I  went  at  once  to  assure  her 
of  my  compliance  with  her  wishes.  She  thanked  me  with  a  sad  smile, 
a;vd  made  me  kibs  my  sistef  who  was  sleeping  in  her  lap. 

We  lived  only  half  a  league  from  Grenoble;  I  could  therefore  attend 
the  Law  School  there  without» leaving  home.  My  niother  questioned 
me  daily  about  my  progrcf;s  in  my  studies  with  such  peiscvcring  and 
i^.tense  interest,  that  I  was  forced  to  ask  myscU  if  there  was  not  some- 
thing at  the  bottom  of  this  extraordinary  proposition  more  than  the 
fancy  of  a  sick,  nervous  woman;  if  possibly  my  father's  aversion  to  all 
business  matters  had  r.ot  caused  some  loss  of  fortune,  or  at  lea,«t  sonic 
confusion  in  our  aifairs,  which  my  mother  hoped  I  might  repair  through 
my  legal  knowledge  and  business  habits.  This  suspicion  daily  grew 
stronger;  I  now  recollected  hearing  my  father  lament  bitterly  the  losso.=? 
h.Q  sustained  at  the  time  of  the  revolution,  but  such  complaints  had 
ceased  long  ago;  I  thoiiglit  them  quite  unjustifiable  at  the  time,  for  ouv 
fortune  seemed  to  me  most  ample.  The  old  chateau  in  which  we  lived. 
near  Grenoble,  had  descended  from  father  to  son,  and  was  the  boast  of 
the  country.  My  father  and  I  -oi'ten  hunted  the  whole  day,  without 
quitting  our  own  grounds.  Our  stables  were  very  extensive  and  always 
tilled  with  fine  horses,  of  which  my  father  was  as  proud  as  lu  was  pas- 
sionately fond.  We  had  besides  an  elegant  hotel  in  Paris  on  the  Bou- 
levard des  Capuchins,' in  which  a  suite  of  apartments,  were  kept  solclvt 
for  our  own  use.  Our  /able  was  always  served  with  every  delicacy,  and 
!;othing  in  our  establishment  gave  the  least  indication  of  expediency 
even,  much  less  of  poverty. 

Not  long  after  this  my  mother's  health  began  surely,  but  almost  im- 
perceptibly, to  decline.  Ilcr  character  changed  strangely;  instead  of 
her  former  angelic  sweetness,  she  became  bitter  and  aggressive;  I  could 
î:ot  leave  the  chateau  without  my  absence  being  made  the  subject  of 
some  sarcastic  and  painful  comment.  IMy  father,  who  was  as  little 
.spared  as  myself,  bore  these  attacks  very  patiently,  but  they  had  the 
effect  of  causing  him  to  spend  less  time  at  home  than  formerly.  lie 
evidently  felt  the  need  of  constant  diversion,  and  he  always  desired  me 
f  )  accompany  him.  My  love  of  pleasure,  the  ardor  of  my  youth,  and 
■J)(<\'Q  all.  the  weakness  of  my  heart,  made  me  j'ield  to  him  a  too  ready 
compliance. 

One  day  in  September,  185-,  my  father  and  I  went  to  see  the  racc5, 
which  were  to  take  place  a  short  distance  from  the  chateau.  He  had 
.several  hordes  enterad  to  run  on  that  day,  and  wc  went  early  in  the 
morning  and  breakfasted  on  the  course.  Towards  thn  middle  of  the 
day  I  was  met,  as  I  galloped  backwards  and  forwards  on  the  turf  to 
watch  the  race,  by  one  of  our  servants,  who  said  he  had  been  seeking 
r.te  for  half  an  hour;  that  my  father  had  already  gene  home,  whither 


6  The  Romance  of  a  Poor   Young  Man. 

he  desired  n)e  to  follow  him  wrthout  delay.     "What  has  happened? 
tell  me  in  heaven's  name  !"  said  I. 

"I  believe  madame  is  much  worse,"  replied  the  man. 

On  hearing  this,  I  rode  homewards  like  one  distracted. 

"When  I  reached  the  chateau  I  saw  my  sister  playing  by  herself  on 
the  turf  in  the  largfe  court.  She  ran  up  to  me  as  I  dismounted  li-om 
jny  horse,  and  as  she  kissed  me,  said  with  a  mysterious  but  merry  air  :' 
"  The  Curate  has  come  !" 

I  h«stened  into  the  house,  where,  however,  I  could  not  perceive  any 
unusual  bustle  or  confusion,  and  ascended  the  staircase  with  all  speed. 
As  I  entered  the  dressing-room  communicating  with  my  mother's  cham- 
ber, the  door  opened  softly  and  my  father  came  out.  His  face  was 
very  pale  and  his  lips  trembled. 

"  Maximilian,"  said  he,  without  raising  his  eyes,  "your  mother  asks 
for  you."  I  wished  to  question  him,  but  he  motioned  me  away,  and 
approached  a  window  as  if  to  look  out. 

I  entered  my  mother's  room,  and  found  her  reclining  on  the  sofa 
with  her  eyes  closed,  while  one  arm  hung  motionless  by  her  side.  Her 
face  was  very  pale,  but  it  had  suddenly  regained  all  the  esquisitc  sweet- 
ness and  delicate  beauty  of  which  her  extreme  suffering  had  lately  de- 
prived it.  The  Angel  of  Death  already  overshadowed  her  with  his 
wings  !  . 

"  I  fell  on  my  knees  beside  her.  She  opened  her  eyes,  and  raising 
her  head  with  great  difficulty,  fixed  upon  me  a  long,  tender  look,  Then 
in  a  scarcely  audible  voice,  she  breathed  these  broken  words  :  "  Poor, 
child — I  am  leaving  thee — but  do  not  weep.  Thou  has  left  me  alone 
all  this  time;  but  I  have  been  so  unkind!  We  shall  meet  again,  my 
son — we  shall  then  understand  each  other.  Remind  thy  father  of  what 
he  promised  me.  Be  thou  strong  in  the  battle  of  life,  but  pardon  those 
who  are  weak."  Sh3  sank  back  exhausted  for  a  moment,  then  rousing 
herself  with  an  effort,  raised  her  finger  and  looking  earnestly  at  me, 
said  ;■  "  Thy  sister  !" 

Her  blue  eyes  closed;  suddenly  opening  them,  she  threw  her  arn}S 
upwards.  I  uttered  a  piercing  cry,  and  my  father  rushed  into  the 
room,"but  only  to  clasp,  with  choking  sobs,  her  lifeless  body  to  his 
bosom. 

■  Several  w-eeks  later  my  father  desired  me,  in  obedience  to  the  last; 
wishes  of  her  whom  we  so  bitterly  mourned,  to  sot  out  on  my  travels. 
I  quitted  France  and  commenced  the  wan^dering  life  I  have  led  up  to 
this  day.  During  a  year's  absence  I  often  longed  to  return  home,  but 
my  father  had  fixed  the  exact  time  of  my  travels,  and  I  had  beeu  taught 
to  regard  his  wishes. 

His  letters  were  affectionate,  but  brief,  and  had  never  expressed  the 
least  impatience  for  my  return.  I  was  therefore  greatly  alarmed  to  find, 
on  disembarking  at  Marseilles,  two  months  ago,  several  letters  from  my 
father  recalling  me  home  with  feverish  haste. 

It  was^a  gloomy  night  in  February,  when  I  saw  once  more  the  mas- 
sive Wîvlls  of  our  old  chateau.  A  bitter,  freezing  north  wind  blew  at 
intervals,  and  flakes  of  sleeting  snow  fell  upon  the  wet  ground  with  a 
sad  feeble  sound,  like  the  dead  leaves  of  autumn.     On  entering  the 


'     The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  3Tan.  7 

court  yard,  I  saw  a  shadow  against  one  of  the  windows  of  the  large 
saloon,  which  had  not  been  used  for  some  months  previous  to  my 
mother's  death.  I  entered  quickly j  on  seeing  me,  my  father  uttered  a 
low  cscuimation,  then  clasped  me  to  his  breast,  and  T  felt  his  heart  beat 
violently. 

"  ïhou  art  frozen,  my  poor  child,"  said  he,  addressing  mc  in  the 
second  person,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom.  '' Warm  thyself.  This 
room  is  cold,  but  1  prefer  it  to  all  the  others;  one  can  at  least  breathe 
here." 

"  IIow  is  your  health,  diTar  father?" 

"  Tolerable,  as  thou  seest."  And  leaving  me  near  the  fireplace  of 
this  immense  room  which  two  or  three  wax  candles  barely  lighted,  he 
recommenced  the  walk  which  T  had  apparently  interrupted. 

This  strange  reception  filled  nic  with  alarm,  and  I  gazed  anxiously 
at  ray  father.  , 

"  Hast  thou  seen  my  horses?''  said  he  suddenly,  without  checking 
his  steps. 

"  Father  !"  "  Ah  !  true,  thou  hast  but  just  arrived."  After  a  pause 
he  resumed,  "Maximilian,  I  wish  to  speak  to  you." 

"  I  am  listening  to  you,  father." 

He  seemed  not  to  hear  me,  but  paced  up  and  down  the  room  repeat- 
ing at  intervals,  ''  I  wish  to  speak  to  you,  nry  son." 

.At  length,  passing  his  hand  over  his  head,  he  sighed  heavily,  and. 
seating  himself  abruptly,  motioned  me  to  a  chair  opposite.  Then,  as  if 
he  wished  to  speak,  but  lacked  the  courage  to  do  so,  his  eyes  sought 
mine  with  an  espres.sion  of  anguish,  humility,  and  supplication,  which, 
in  a  man  as  proud  as  my  father,  touched  me  deeply.  I  could  not  but 
feel  that  wliàtever  faults  he  had  committed,  the  confession  of  which 
xras  so  painful,  he  had  fully  expiated  them.  Suddenly  his  eyes  lost  all 
expression,  he  grasped  my  arm,  rose  from  his  seat,  and  then  fell  heavi- 
ly on  the  carpet.     He  was  dead  I 

The  heart  does  not  reiison,  nor  calculate;  it  divines.  I  now  under- 
stood the  whole  :  one  moment  had  sufficed  to  reveal  to  me  without  a 
word  of  explanation,  by  an  irresistible  ray  of  light,  this  fatal  truth, 
which  a  thousand  incidents  repeated  under  my  eyes  every  diiy  for  twen- 
ty year.s,  had  not  made  me  suspect. 

1  kne\^  that  we  were  ruined,  that  the  storm  would  soon  burst  over 
my  head.  Weill  I  am  certain  that  my  father  could  not  have  been 
more  bitterly  wept  had  he  left  me  loaded  with  fortune's  favors.  To  my 
deep  sorrow  was  added  a  feeling  of  profound  pity;  I  saw  constantly 
before  me  that  look  of  supplication  and  humiliation  ;  I  was  in  despair 
;;t  not  i\^v;ng  been  aide  to  speak  one  word  of  consolation  to  that  broken 
heart,  and  I  cried  wildly  to  him  who  could  no  longer  hear,  "  I  forgive 
you  !     I  forgive  you  !" 

As  well  as  I  could  conjecture,  my  father  promised  my  mother  in 
their  last  sad  interview  to  sell  the  greater  part  of  his  property,  and  to 
pay  the  enormous  load  of  debt  he  had  contracted,  having  spent  much  ^ 
more  than  his  income,  for  many  years  past,  and  to  live  on  the  remain- 
der whatever  it  might  inc.  My  father  had  kept  his  promise  so  far  as 
lo  sell  the  timber  and  a  portion  of  his  landed  ei^tatc  ;  but  only  an  in- 


>-■  The  Romance  of  a  Poor   Young  Man. 

considerable  debt  was  paid  vrith  tlie  proceeds-;  once  the  possessor  of  so 
hrgc  a  sum  of  ready  nioiiey  he  could  not  resist  the  fatal  teniptutious  of 
the  Ijoursc  ;  his  etock  speculations  proved  disastrous,  i.tnd  thus  his  ruin 
was  complete. 

I  had  not  yet  sounded  the  depths  of  misevy  into  which  wc  are 
pluuf^cd.  I  fell  ill  the  nest  week  after  my  father's  death,  and  recov- 
ered barely  in  time  to  leave  our  old  h^editary  chateau  before  a  stran- 
;zfr,  one  of  the  creditors,  took  possession.  Fortunately  for  me  an  old 
Iriciid  of  my  mother,  a  notary  living. at  Paris,  and  who  formerly  had 
chari^c  of  our  aifair-s,  came  forward  arid  oSered  to'  undertake  the  task 
of  liquidation.  I  placed  the  matter  in  his  hands,  giving  him  uncondi- 
tional power  to  act.  and  I  suppose  his  labors  are  ended  to-clay.  As  soon 
.-is  I  reached  Paris,  yesterday,  I  v.'Cnt  to  see  him,  but  he  had  gone  into 
the  country  and  will  not  return  till  to-morrow.  Suopense  is  hard  to 
bear  ;  these  two  days  have  been  long  and  weary.  It  would  have  aston- 
ished rue  to  be,  told  ten  years  ago  that  this  old  -notary,  whose  forroal 
v.nà.  precise  language  amused  my  father  and  me  so  greatly,  would  be, 
one  day,  a  sort  of  oracle  from  whom  I  was  to  learn  n)y  destiny. 

I  have  tried  to  cherish  no  false  hopes  ;  I  have  calculated  that  when 
till  the  debts  are  paid  there  will  remain  a  hundred  and  twenty,  or  a 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs.  It  is  impossible  that  out  of  a  for- 
tune of  five  millions  of  francs  there  will  not  be  at  least  this  small  sum 
left.  I  will  take  ten  thousand  francs  for  iiiy  portion  and  will  go  to  seek 
my  fortune  in  the  United  States,  leaving  the  re^-t'for  my  little  sister. 

I  will  write  no  longer  to-night.  But  my  sad  occupation-has  restored 
, my  eafmne'ss  somewhafcj  depressing  as  may  have  been  the  incidents  I 
have  recalled.  ,  / 

To  labor  is  certainl}'  a  divine  law,  since  labor  brings  contentment 
with  it;  yet  nvm  loves  it  not,  and  while  each  day  he  enjoys  the  good  it 
brings,  each  day  he  goes  to  it  with  the  same  repugnance.  There  is 
.some  strange  and  mysterious  contradiction  in  thi.s,  as  if  we  felt  at  once 
that  it  is  a  penalty  imposed  on  us,  while  we  acknowledge  the  divine 
and  paternal  character  of  the  Judge. 


Thursdai/. 

On  awaking  this  morning  the  servant  handed  me  a  letter  from  the 
old  notary,  Mr.  Laubepin.  It  contained  an  invitation  to  diniu;r,  when 
he  would  inform  tue  of  his  progress  in  settling  my  affairs,  and  ended  JDy 
begging  my  pardon  for  the  liberty  he  took.  This  circumspection  a;:- 
gurs  ill  for  hie. 

In  order  to  pass  away  the  time  till  the  hour  fixed  for  dinner,  I  went 
to  tbc  convent  where  my  sister  is,  and  took  her  out  for  a  walk.  The 
child  knyws  nothing  of  our  misfortunes,  our  ruin.  She  has  been  in- 
dulging various  costly  whims  in  the  course  ci'  the  day.  She  has  bought 
a  largo  supply  of  gloves,  of  rose-colored  pap^-r,  bon-bons  for  her  friendii, 
essences,  and  wonderful  soaps,  all  very  useful  things,  doubtless,  butlcs-js 
essential  than  a  good  dinner  ! 

At  six  o'clock,  I  reached  Mr.  Laubepin's  hou.^c,  in  Cassolta  street. 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor   Young  Man.  i* 

1  do  not  know  our  old  friend's  ^ga,  but  I  do  not  rcineniber  liim  look 
ing  otherwisn  than  he  did  to-daj  ;  tall,  but  slightly  bent,  Ins  ^vhitc  hair 
oareles>>ly  brushed,  a  clear,  piercing  eye,  looking  out  from  under  thick 
biack  eyebrows,  and- a  ph3>ique  both  vigorous  and  refined.  His  d res:' 
is  always  the  same  ;  a  black  coat  of  some  antique  fashion,  a  professional 
vhite  cravat,  with  an  old  family  diamond  pin  in  his  bosom,  arc  the  ex- 
ternal .'•igns  of  a  methodical,  grave  mind,  and  a  lover  of  traditions. 
The  old  gentleman  was  awaiting  nio  at  the  open  door  of  his  little  par- 
lor; with  a  low  bow  he  took  my  hand  lightly  between  two  fingers  and 
led  me  lïp  to  an  old  lady  who  was  standing  in  front  of  the  fireplace, 
;i'.id  said  gravely  and  empKatically  :  "  The  Marquis  do  Champcey  d'- 
llauterivel"  then  turning  toward  me,  in  an  liambler  voice,  said  :  "  Ma- 
damo  Laubepin.'  -There  was  a  moment's  embarrassed  silence  after  w< 
wore  seated.  I  had  supposed  ho  would  at  once  open  our  business  mat- 
ters; seeing  he  delayed  the  communication,  I  concluded  i.niust  be  still 
more  disagreeable  for  me  to  hear  than  1  had  expected.-  This  idea  wa;^ 
confirmed  by  the  compassionate  glances  of  Mrs.  Laubepin,  while  in 
the  keen  looks  with  which  the  notary  regarded  mo,  I  thought  1  could 
detect  à  spice  of  malice.  I  now  rejne.nbered  hearing  niy  father  call 
the  polite,  respectful  notary,  a  Jacobin  at  heart,  and  I  inwardly  accu- 
sed him  of  gratilyiug  his  secret  anti[.athy  to  tho  nobility  by  prolonging 
the  torture  of  suspense  of  one  of  tlrat  hated  class.  This  thought  roua- 
<'d  my  pride  of  rank,' and  determining  to  hide  my  suffering  under 
lightness  of.spcech,  1  addressed  Mr.  Laubepin  ; 

"  Why  did  you  leave  your  house  in  the  Place  des  Petits  Pères  ?  1 
.in  surprised,  Isiw  Laubepin.  I  couli  never  have  believed  you  would 
ior.«ake  the  dear  place!"  / 

"  Tt  is  an  act  of  disloyalty  unworthy  t)f  my  age,  Maiqui,^,  but  wbc:i 
1  gave  up  my  profession,  I  thought  it  best  to  give  up  my  office  also," 
replied  Laubepin. 

"What  !  have  you  retired  from  active  life?"  I  demanded.  "  Ye:^. 
Marquis;  from  all  public  and  official  bu^ine-^s,  but  th  re  aro  sever;; 
honorable  and  influential  families  whoso  confidence  I  have  had  tl,  - 
honor  to  obtain  durin^ç  a  practice  of  forty-five  years,  who  still  seek  ray 
advice  in  all  delicate  and  private  matters,  and,  1  may  add,  they  seldom 
regret  following  it'-" 

As  Mr.  Laubepin  finished  rendering  himself  this  just  praise,  an  old 
servant  announced  the  dinner.  I  had  the  honor  of  condnctin»: 
Mrs.  Laubepin  to  the  table.  The  conversation  during  dinner,  wa-' 
upon  the  most  trivial  topics,  but  Mr.  lisubcpin  frequently  looked  at  m 
with  the  sam^  equivocal  oxprcs.'^ion,  and  whenever  his  wife  adiVrcBse': 
mo.  it  was' in   the  sorrowful,  pitying  tone  so  often  used  in  a  sick-rooi:: 

At  length  wo  ro-o  from  table,  and  the  old  notary  led  tho  way  ir.*.. 
his  study,  where  coffee  was  soon  served. 

T^,  I,  rpj  mo  to  be  seated,  and  leaning  against  the  mantelpiece 
.ivi  "r  '  i:ic  thus  : 

"  You  have  done  me  the  honor,  I^îarqui.^.  to  charge  vr^c  T^ith  the  la- 
bor of  liquidating  tho  estate  of  your  father,  the  late  Marquis  de 
^hanjpccy  d'  Ilauterivc.     I  wcs  about  to  write  to  you  yesterday,  whcr 


10  The  Romance  of  a  Poor   Young  Man. 

T  heard  of  your  arrival  in   Paris.     Permit  me  now  to  state   to  you  the 
result  of  uiy  investigations." 

"  I  perceive,  sir,  3'ou  have  bad  news  to  tell  me." 

'•  Yes,  sir,  and  you  will  need  to  summon  all  your  courage  to  hoar  it, 
but  I  must  proceed  methodically.  la  the  year  1820,  Miss  Louise 
Helen  Pugaid  Delatouche  d'Eronvllle  was  sought  in  marriage  by 
rh'arles  Christian  Odiot,  Marquis  de  Ghampcey  d'IIauterive.  Intrust- 
ed as  I  had  been  for  years  with  the  management  of  the  affairs  of  the 
Dagald  Pelatouche  family,  and  long  since  admitted  to  the  confidence 
of  the  young  heiress  on  a  footing  of  respectful  familiarity,  I  used  every 
argument  in  m}'  power  to  oppose  her  affection  for  the  3Iarquis,  and  to 
prevent  the  sad  alliance.  1  say  sad  alliance^  not  because  the  fortune 
of  de  Champcey  was  not  equal  to  that  of  Mile.  Delatouche  in  spite  of 
several  mortgages  with  which  it  was  ahready  burdened;  but  I  knew 
the  character,  the  hereditary  temperament,  so  to  speak,  of  M.  de 
Champcey.  Beneath  the  chivalrous  and  attractive  bearing  which  dis- 
tinguished him,  as  well  as  all  others  of  his  house,  I  clearly  perceived 
his  unreflecting  obstinacy,  his  incurable  frivolity,  his  passionate  love  of 
pleasure,  and  finally  his  supreme  egotism" — 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  suddenly  interrupting  him,  "  the  memory  of  my 
father  is  sacred  to  me,  and  must  be  respected  by  those  who  speak  of 
him  in  my  presence."  ' 

"I  re.spect  this  sentiment  in  you,  Mr.  Marquis,"  replied  the  notary 
with  sudden  emotion,  "but  in  speaking  of  your  father,  I  cannot  forget 
that  I  speak  of  the  man  who  killed  your  mother,  that  heroic  woman, 
that  saint,  that  angel  !".     . 

I  rose  from  my  seat  in  great  agitation.  Mr.  Laubepin,  who  had 
taken  several  steps  across  the  room,  caught  my  arm"..  "  Pardon  inc, 
young  man,"  said  he,-  "  I  loved  your  mother,  I  have  wept  for  her  !  I 
pray  you  to  pardon  mè."  And  again  placing  himself  before  the  fire, 
he  resumed,  in  his  ordinary  solemn  tone,  "  I  had  the  honor  and  the 
chagrin  to  draw  up  your  mother's  marriage  contract.  Contrary  to  my 
earnest  prayers,  there  was  no  marriage  settlement,  and  it  was  with  great 
difficulty  that  I  was  permitted  to  introduce  into  the  instrument  a  pro- 
tecting clause  declaring  oncfliird  of  your  mother's  real  estate  inaliena- 
ble without  her  legally  expressed  consent.  Vain  precaution,  Jlarquis, 
and  L  might  say,  cruel  precaution  of  a  badly  inspired  friendship,  which, 
instead  of  proving  a  means  of  protection,  only  prepared  for  her  the 
keenest  torments  !  I  mean  those  struggles,  those  violent  disputes,  the 
sounds  of  v.'hich  must  have  reached  your  ears  more  than  once,  and  in 
which  jour  unfortunate  mother  lost,  piece  by  piece,  the  last  of  her  pat-" 
rimony  and  her  children's  bread  !" 

"  Sir  !  I  beg  of  you": 

"T  obey,  Mr.  Marquis — I  will  speak  only  of  the  present  !" 
"  To  take  such  a  step,  sir,  would  be  to  outrage  my  father's  memory, 
and  I  refuse." 

Mr.  Laubepin,  after  giving  me  one  of  his  inquisitive  glances,  resum- 
ed :  ''  You  arc  aware  that  in  default  of  making  use  of  this  legal  right, 
you  will  remain  lialjle  for  the  debts  of  the  estate,  even  when  these  ex- 
ceed the  value  of  the  property.     Now  I  have  the  painful  duty  of  tell- 


The  Romance  of  a  'Poor  Young  Man.  11 

ing  you,  sir,  that  this  is  precisely  the  case  in  the  present  instance.  As 
you  will  sec  on  examining  this  bundle  of  papers,  it  is  perfectly  certain, 
that  after  the  sale  of  your  hotel,  on  bcttfi  terms  than  we  can  reasona- 
bly hope  for,  you  and  your  sister  will  remain  indebted  to  your  father's 
creditors  in  the  sum  of  forty-five  thousand  francs." 

I  was  literally  thunder-struck  by  this  statement,  which  exceeded  ri)y 
•worst  apprehensions.  For  a  moment,  I  neither  saw  the  clock  on  which 
my  vacant  eyes  were  fixed,  nor  heard  its  ticking. 

'' Now,"  said  Laubcpin,  after  a  short  silence,  "  I  must  inform  y^  i 
that  your  mother,  foreseeing  the  possibility  of  that  which  has*takea 
place,  deposited  with  me  some  jewels,  the  value  of  which  is  estimated 
at  about  fifty  thousand  francs.  In  order  to  prevent  this  small  sum, 
your  only  resource  in  the  future,  from  falling  into  the  hands  of  the 
creditors,  you  must  employ  the  legal  subterfuge  of  which  I  have  t.\- 
ready  spoken." 

"  But  that  is  out  of  the  question,  sir.  I  am  only  too  happy  to  be 
able,  with  this  unlooked  for  means,  to  pay  my  father's  debts  in  fuTl, 
and  I  beg  you  to  use  it  for  that  purpose." 

Mr.  Laubcpin  bowed  slightly.  "As  you  please,"  said  he,  "but  T 
cannot  refrain  from  observing  to  you  tliat  when  the  trust  now  in  my 
hands  has  been  thus  applied,  there  will  on]y  remain,  as  the  whole  for- 
tune of  Miss  Helen  and  yourself,  the  sum  of  between  four  and  five 
thousand  livres,  which,  at  the  usual  rate  of  interest,  will  give  3'ou  ri 
yearly  income  of  two  hundred  and  twenty-five  francs.  This  being  set- 
tled, will  you  permit  me,  Marquis,  as  a  respectful  and  confidential 
friend,  to  ask  if  you  have  any  other  means  of  gaining  a  livelihood  fcr 
your  sister  and  yourself,  and  what  are  your  plans  ?" 

''  I  have  no  plans,  sir.  Those  which  I  had  formed  are  irreconcilable 
with  the  absolute  poverty  to  which  I  am  reduced.  If  I  were  alone  iu 
the  world,  I  should  enlist  in  the  army;  but  I  cannot  forsake  my  sister, 
nor  allow'  her  to  want.  She  is  now  very  happy  in  the  convent,  and  is 
young  enough  to  remain  there  some  years  longer.  I  woiiM  engage,' 
with  all  my. heart,  in  any  occupation  which  would  allow  me,  by  prac- 
tising the  closest  economy,  to  pay  my  sister's  expenses  at  the  convent 
and  to  lay  up  something  each  year  for  her  dowry." 

Mr.  Laubcpin  looked  at  me  steadily.  "In  otder  to  attain  this  de- 
sirable and  honorable  end,"  said  he,  "you  must  not  think,  Marquis,  cf 
entering  the  slow  path  0!  political  life,  or  seeking  an  office  under  gov- 
ernment. You  ought  to  have  employment  which  will  give  you  frora 
the  first  an  income  of  five  or  six  thousand  francs  a  year.  I  need  no* 
tell  you  that  in  our  present  social  .state,  something  else  is  necessary  to 
gain  this  desideratum,  than  merely  to  stj'otch  out  one's  band  !  Mapp:-' 
ly,  I  have  some  propositions  to  lay  before  you  that  may,  at  once,  ai  i 
without  any  great  effort  on  your  part,  better  your  position."  Then, 
fixing  his  eyes  on  me  with  a  more  penetnuing  look  than  ever,  he  ceh- 
tinued  :  "In  the  first  place,  Marquis,  a  rich  speculatDr  has  conccivo*! 
the  idea  of  a  grand  enlerprise,  the  nature  of  which  shall  lie  txjil.iined 
tg  you  hereafter,  which  cannot  succeed  without  the  special  roncurrcnee 
of  the  aristocracy.  He  thinks  tJiat  a  name,  ancient  and  illustrions  a« 
yours,  figuring  amongst  those  of  the  promoters  of  the  enterprise.  vi'.A 


l'A  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Yowng  Man. 

ga,iu  it  a  fiivorable  reception  amoiip;  that  class  of  the  public  to  •whîcl; 
lae  prospectus  will  be  specially  addrcsBcd  As  a  premium  for  this  use 
of  your  name,  he  offers  you  oiic-tersth  of  the  stock,  the  value  of  which 
ifl  estimated  from  the  first  at  ten  thousand  francs,  and  would  probably 
be  tripled  by  the  success  of  the  operations.     Besides" 

"  Enough,' sir;  such  disgraceful  proposals  are  not  worth  the  trouble 
of  statin;^;  them/' 

A  ray  of  light  shot  from  the  eye  of  the  old  man,  and  a  slight  smile 
"was  jisible  on  his  dried  and  wrinkled  face. 

"If  the  proposition  displeases  you,  sir,  it  displeases  me  no  less;  at 
tlio.same  time  it  was  my  duty  to  submit  it  to  you.  I  have  another 
■which  will  perhaps  make  you  smile,  but  which  is  much  more  suitable. 
One  of  my  oldest  clients  is  a  merchant  who  retired  from  business  a 
short  time  ago,  and  who  lives  in  great  comfort  with  an  only  and  be- 
loved daughter.  lïis  annual  income  cannot  be  less  than  twenty  five 
thousand  livres.  This  young  lady  chanced  to  hear  of  your  misfortunes 
three  days  ago;  she  is  pretty,  and  is,  besides,  a  moat  estimable  person  ; 
I  believe,  nay,  I  have  been  assured,  that  she  would  not  hesitate  one 
mcmeut  to  accept  your  hand  and  the  title  of  the  Marchioness  of 
Ohampccy.  The  father  consents,  and  I  wait  only  one  word  from  you, 
Marquis,  to  tell  you  the  name  and  residence  of  this  interesting  family," 

"  Sir,  this  decides  me;  from  to-morrow  I  will  lay  aside  a  title  whicl? 
in.  my  situation  is  only  a  mockery,  and  which,  moreover,  seems  to  ex- 
pose me  to  the  most  miserable  intrigues.  My  family  name  is  Odiot  :, 
henceforth  I  will  bear  no  other.  Now,  sir,  while  I  recognize  and  thank 
you  for  the  warm  interest  in  mo  which  could  alone  have  induced  yoii 
to  listen  to  such  proposals  as  you  have  laid  before  me,  I  beg  you  to 
spare  nie  all  others  of  a^ike  character.'"' 

"  In  that  case,  Marquis/'  replied  Laubcpin,  ■'\  have  no  other  propo- 
oils  to  make  to  you." 

Tiien,  as  if  seized  with  a  sudden  fit  of  merriment,  he  rubbed  his 
bands  together,  making  a  sound  like  tearing  parchment,  and  laughed, 
an  he  said  :  "  ^ou  will  be  a  difficult  man  to  deal  with,  Mr.  Masimilian  Î 
Ah — ah!  very  difiicult  indeed!  It  is  very  extraordinary,  sir,  that  I 
did  not  observe  sooner  the  striking  resemblance  you  bear  to  your  mo- 
ther. The  eyes  and  the  smile,  in  partit:ular — but  we  must  not  wander 
from  our  subject.  Since  you  choose  to  gain  your  livelihood  by  honor- 
able lal.ior,  allow  me  to  ask  what  your  abilities  are,  and  what  you  are 
.^tted  lor?" 

''  My  education  has  njiturally  been  that  of  a  man  destined  to  wealth 
and  ease.  I  have  studied  law,  however,  and  have  even  been  admitted 
to  the  bar."  . 

"A  lawyer?  The  devil!  You  a  lawyer!  But  being  admitted  to 
the  bar  is  not  enough  ;  in  a  legal  career,  more  than  in  any  other,  it  is 
necessary  to  prove  onoself  a  man.  Let  us  sec — are  you  a  fluent  speaker, 
Marquis?" 

"  So  far  from  it,  I  believe  myself  wholly  incapable  of  extemporizing 
two  sentences  in  public. 

''Ham!  then  your  vocation  is  not  precisely  that  .of  an  advocate. 
You  u-ust  turn  in  aomc  other  direction,  bat  the  subject  dènïands  reflec-  ■ 


The  Romance  oj   a  Pocv   Young  31an.  13 

lion.  I  see,  besides,  that  you  are  fatigued.  Jlcrc  s.v<i  yo;u-  yapiri», 
which  I  beg  of  you  to  esamine  at  your  leisure.  1  have.îLc  honor  to 
wish  you  good  night.  Allow  m*e  to  light  you  to  the  door.  But — par- 
don nic — shall  I  wait  further  orders  from  you  before  selling  the  jewel» 
in  my  possossion,  and  applying  tlic  money  to'  the  ^'arment  of,  yoiir 
creditors  T'  ^  ■    • 

"  No,  certainly  not;  I  expect  moreover,  that  you  ■will  take  out  of  the 
sum  thus  realized,  a  just  remuneration  for  your  valuable  fiorvices." 

We  had  reached  the  staircase  landing.  Mr.  Laubepin,  who.'^e  figure 
is  slightly  bent  when  he  walks,  straightened  himself  quickly  :  "In  what 
concerns  your  creditors,  Mr.  i\Iarquis,  I  will  respectfully  i  boy  you-,  but 
for  myself — I  was  your  mother's  friend,  and  1  beg  humbl^'^,  but  earnest- 
ly, that  her  son  will  treat  me  as  a  friend  also."  I  gave  the  old  man 
my  hand,  he  pressed  it  vraitoly,  and  we  parted. 

I  have  returned  to  the  little  room  I  occupy  at  the  top  of  this  bote», 
which  no  lunger  belonj^s  to  me.  In  order  to  prove  to  myself  that 
the  complete  destruction  of  all  my  hopes  has  not  plunged  me  into  a 
state  of  despair,  unworthy  of  a  man,  I  have  written  this  account  of  the 
day.  carefully  preserving  cheexact  phraseology  of  the  old  notary;  tifid 
notwithstanding  nn'  grief  ati  the  situation  in  which  I  find  myself,  the 
Kiiiigiiitg  of  jjlunt,ness  and  (^ourt-^sy,  of  mistrust  and  tenderness,  di.v 
played  in  his  language,  haa  often  made  me  sn)ile  as  I  wrote. 

Here  is  poverty,  not  that  secret,  proud,  poetic  poverty  that  led  bc, 
in  ifcuagination,  across  forests,  deserts  and  prairies,  but  positive  mi.sery, 
want,  dependence,  humiliation,  and  what  is  worse  yet,  the  bitter  pov- 
erty'of  decayed  wealth — poverty  in  a  black  dress,  whose  wearer  hidc-« 
his  b:ire  hands  from  his  old  friends,  who  pa.=3  by  without  seeing  hi:n' 
But  I  will  take  courage  !  . 


Monàai/,  April  27. 
I  liavc  waited  iij  vain  for  five  day.s  for  news  from  Mr.  Laubepin.  Ï 
confess  that  I  placed  great  reliance  on  the  interest  he  seemed  to  mani- 
fest iii'UTë.  His  experience,  hi.s  practical  knowledge,  and  his  extensive 
ba-inef,s  acquaintance,  gave  him  the  power  of  being  very  useful  to  mt, 
and  1  was  ready  to  take  any  steps  he  might  advise;  but  loft  to'myacdf 
1  know  not  which  way  to  turn.  1  thought  him  one  of  those  who  per- 
fun»  much  more  than  they  promise,  but  J  fear  I  was  mistaken.  I  went 
to  his  house  this  morning  under  the  pretext  of  returning  the  papers  he 
had  g.vcn  me,  hiving  verified  th.eir  unfortunate  correctneïS.  Th^  sei- 
v:int,  lold  me  Mr.  Lauhepin  had  gone  to  recruit  hia  health  at  some 
c«iuiiiry  place  in  the  lower  part  of  Brittany,  and  would  be  absent  t'vo 
or  three  days  longer.  I  was  deeply  annoyed  by  thiq  intelligence  I 
nut  only  felt  wounded  by  mooting  indifference  and  negl*ct,  whero  I 
lonki'd  foi  warmth  and  devoted  friendship,  lint  T  had  tl)c  grief  of  rt- 
turning  witli  my  pur.-ip  a:i  empty  as  I  went.  1  had  intended  to  ask  him 
to  advunco  me  a  small  sum  out  of  the  few  thousand 'francs  that  wooM 
remain  aft.er  the  payment  of  my  father's  debts;  for  though  1  had  lived 
iike  a  hermit  since  comiog  to  Paris.  I  bad  exhaufited  the  trifling  enm 


14  The  Tlomanec  of  a  Poor   Young  Man. 

]-.;maining  after  my  travels,  and  so  entirely  was  it  .spent,  that  after 
l.Tcakfasting  this  morning  like  a  shepherd,  castaneœ  molles  et  prcssî 
copia  lactis,  I  had  recourse  to  a  sort  of  sponging  in  order  to  dine, "the 
melancholy  remembrance  of  which  I  will  preserve  here  in  my  journal. 
The  less  one  has  breakfasted,  the  more  one  wants  his  dinner  !  Thia 
i.i  an  axii)m  of  which  I  felt  the  full  force  to*day,  long  before  the  sun 
had  set.  Among  tliose  who  were  drawn  by  the  beauty  of  the  day  iota 
the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries  this  afternoon,  thea-e  might  hare  been  re- 
narked  a  man,  still  young  and  perfectly  well  dressed,  who  seemed  to 
observe  the  first  smiles. of  spring,  the  re-awakening  of  nature,  with  ex- 
traordinary solicitude.  Not  content  with  obsei;viug  with  the  eye/ilone, 
this  person  might  frequently  have  been  seen  to  break  off  stealthily  the 
tender  young  shoots,  the  half-opened  leaves,  and  carry  them  to  his  mouth 
with  the  curiosity  of  a  botanist.  This  sort  of  food,  suggested  by  read- 
i?.g  the'  history  of  shipwrecked  persons,  was  of  very  little  value,  how- 
ever, as  a  resource  against  hunger,  but  my  stock  of  knowledge  was  en- 
riched by  several  interesting  facts;  I sJiall  knoio  in  futurt  that  the  f 61^ 
iage  of  the  chestnut , is  exce&sixehj  hitter  ;  that  of  the  rose-hiish  is  not 
had  ;  that  <-f  the  linden  is  oily  and  quite  agreeable]  ai  d  that  of  the  li- 
lac is,  I  believe,  positively  'unwholesome. 

I  meditated  on  these  discoveries  as  I  walked  to  the  cpnvent  to  see 
ir.y  sister.  On  entering  tlje  parlor,  I  fuund  it  as  full  as  a  beehive,  and 
felt  more  deafened  than  usualby  the  confused  buzzing  of  the  young- 
bees.  -Helen  soon  came  in,  but  with  her  hair  in  disorder,  her  eyes  red. 
and  sparkling,  and  her  cheeks  inflamed.  She  held  in  her  hand  a  piece 
ef  bread  as  long  as  her  arm.  As  she  kissed  me  with  an  abstracted  air, 
I  said  : 

''  What  is  the  matter,  my  dear?     You  have  been  weeping  I" 
•"  Oh  !  no,  Maximilian,  it  is  nothing." 
■  'H^ut  what  has  happened  ?     Tell  me." 
She  lowered  her  voice,  saying  : 
"  I  am  very  unhappy,  dear  J^Iaximiiian." 
"  Indeed  J     Tell  me  all  about  it  while  eating  your  bread." 
"  Oh  !  I  shall  not  eat  my  bread  ;  I  am  too  unhappy  to  eat.     Ybui 
know  Lucy — Lucy  Campbell,  my  best  friend  ?     Well,  we   have  quar- 
relled terribly." 

*' Ah!  that  is  sad  ! — Butdo  not  grieve,  my  darling;  you  will  make 
friends  again." 

"  Thau  is  impossible,  Maximilian.  Our  quarrel  was  too  serious  to 
allow  us  to  do  that.  It  began  with  a  trifle,  but  we  got  into  a  passion, 
and  said  very  ill  natured  things.  You  see,  we  were  |llaying  battledoor 
and  shuttlecock,  and  Lucy  made  a  mistake  in  counting  the  strokes.  I 
had  made  six  hundred  and  eighty,  and  Lucy,  only  six  hundred  and  fif- 
teen, and  she  pretended  she  had  n^nde  six  hundred  and  seventy-five. 
That  was  a  little  too  bad,  you  must  allow.  Well,  I  said  my  count  was 
right,  and  she  said  hers  was  right.  'Very  well,  miss,'  s»id  I,  'let  us 
ask  tlie  young  laddies  who  were  looking  at  us.'  'No,'  she  answered,.*  I 
know  I  am  right,  and  you  are  a  bad  player.'  'Well,'  said  I,  /you  are 
■£.  story  teller.'  'As  to  you,  miss,'  answered  Lucy,  'I  despise  you  too 
much  to  answer  you.'     Sister  Sainte-Felix  camei»up.to  us  that  moment, 


The' Romance  of  a  Poor   Young  Man.  15 

luckily,  or  I  think  I  sho.uM  have  beaten  Lucy.  Now,  you  see,  after 
such  a  quarrel,  wc  can  never  make  friends;  it  would  be  disgraceful. 
But  I.  cannot  toll  you  how  sorry  T  am;  I  flo  not  believe  there  is  any- 
body in  the  world  who  is  so  unhappy  as  I  am." 

"  Certainly,  my  child,  it  would  be  hard  to  imagine  a  worse  grief  tliau 
yours,  but  I  caifliot  help  thinkhig  you  brought  it  upon  yourself;  the 
offensive  words  came  from  your  mouth.  Is  your  friend  Lucy  in  the 
parlor  ?"" 

"  Ygs  there  she  is,  in  that  further  corner."  And  by  a  dignified  mo- 
tion of  her  head,  Helen  directed  me  to  a  little  fair-haired  girl,  with 
cheeks  as  red  and  eye.s  as  swollen  as  her  own,  who  was  evidently  giving 
an  old  lady  a  history  of  the  quarrel  which  Sister  Sainte-T*'elix  had  so 
fortunately  interrupted,  and  occasionally  casting  a  stealthy  glance  at 
Helen  and  me  as  she  spoke. 

"  Well  !  my  dear  child,"  said  I,  ''have  you  confidence  in  me?" 

*'  Oh  yes,  Maximilian,  I  have  great  confidence  in  you." 

"Then  I  will  tell  you  what  you  must  do;  you  must  go  very  softly 
behind  Mi.'^s  Lucy's  chair,  and  take  her  head  between  your  hands,  and 
kiss  her  tenderly  on  both  cheeks,  and  then  you  will  see  what  she  will 
do  in  her  turn." 

Helen  hesitated  a  little,  then  went  across  the  room  quickly  and  threw 

.  her  arras  round  Lucy's  neck,  taking  her  quite  by  surprise  ;  her  embrace 

was  warmly  returned,  and  the  two  children  wept  together,  surrounded 

by  a  group  of  synîpathizing  playmates,  while  the  lady-like  looking  Mrs. 

Campbell  blew  her  nose  with  a  noise  like  the  bagpipes! 

Helen  returned  to  me  with  u  f:icc  radiant  with  happiness.  ''Well, 
ray  darling,"  said  I  to  her,  "I  hope  you  <îan  eat  your  bread  now." 

"  Oh,  no,  Maximilian,  I  have  cried  too  much,  and  besides,  I  must 
tell  you\hat  a  new  pupil  came  to-day  and  she  gave  us  a  treat  of  me 
ringues  and  chocolate,  so  that  I  am  not^at  all  hungry.  But  I  do  not 
know  wh;it  to  dci  with  the  bread  ;  I  wa.s  so  full  of  trouble  that  I  forgot 
to  put  it  back  into  the  basket,  as  wc  are  told  to  do  if  we  are  not  hun- 
gry, and  I  am  afraid  I  shall  i)c  punished.  I  think  that  as  we  go 
through  the  yard  I  shall  throw  it  into  the  cellar  window  when  no  onr 
is  looking  at  me."  • 

"What!  my  dear  sLstcr,"  and  I  blushed  as  I  spoke,  "  you  would 
throw  away  your  bread  ?" 

"  I  know  it  is  not  right,  for  perhaps  there  are. poor  people  who  woulJ 
be  glad  to  have  it;  are  there  not,  Maximilian  ?" 

"  Certainly  there  are,  my  child." 

"  But  how  can  I  give  it  to  them  ?     Poor  people  never  come  in  here." 

"  Sec,  Helen,  give  me  the  bread,  and  I  will  give  it  in  your  name  to 
the  first  poor  man  whom  I  meet  ;  will  that  do  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed" 

The  bell  rang  for  visitors  to  depart.  I  broke  the  bread  in  twopiece' 
and  put  it  into  the  pockets  of  my  paletot. 

,"  i)oar  Maximilian,''  said  the  child,  "come  again  soon,  and  till  me 
if  you  met  a  poor  man,  if  you  gave  him  my  bread,  and  if  he  thought 
it  good." 

Yes,  Helen,  I  found  a  poor  man.  and  gave  him  your  bread,  and   h^ 


16  The  RoYiiantc  of  a  Poor   Youn^  Man, 

oarrieù  it  as  precious  booty  to  hi^  lonely  garret,  and  he  thought  it  good  ; 
feut  it  was  a  poor  man  without  courage  or  resolution,  for  he  vropt  us  be 
devoured  the  alms  bestov/ed  by  your  beloved  little  hands.  I  will  tell 
VÔU  ail,  Helen,  for  it  is  well  you  should  know  there  are  greater  sorro'w? 
m  t?!C  world  than  your  childish  troubles  ;  I  will  tell  you  all  except  the 
name  of  the  poor  man. 


Friday,  April  28. 

[  went  this  morning  at  iiine  o'clock  to  Mr.  Laubepin's,  in  the  vague 
hope  that  he  had  returned,  but  be  was  not  expected  till  to-morrow. 
The  thougl;t  then  suggested  itself  of  seeing  Mrs.  Laubepin  and  tell- 
iag  her  to  what  straits  I  was  reduced  by  her  husband's  absence;  but 
while  I  hesitated  between  pride  and  need,  the  old  servant,  frightened 
apparently  by  the  famished  look  I  fixied  upon  her,  decided  the  questicn 
hy  s;.utting  the  door  rudely  in  my  f;;ce.  I  then  resolved  I  would  fasc 
till  to-morrow.  I  said  to  myself  that  after  all  one  would  r.ot  die  bfv 
caui.e  of  a  day's  abstinence;  if  I  acted  wrongly  through  an  '^seess  cf 
pride,  Ï  alone  should  suffer,  and  consequently  it  concerned  nobody  but 
myself. 

[next  \<c\\t  to  the  Sorbonne,  where  I  had  attended  several  succe-- 
sive  courses  of  lectures,, hoping  to  forget  iny  physical  wants  in  mentaî 
enjoyment;  but  the  hour  came  when  this  rfesource  failed,  though  not 
antii  I  had  begun  to  find  it  very  insufiiuient.  I  aUo  felt  great  nervou?- 
irritation,  which  I  hoped  to  quiet  by  walking.  The  day  was  cold  and 
îaisty.  As  I  crossed  the  bridge  of  Saints-Pères,  I  stopped  an  instant 
uhnost  in  spite  of  myself  ;  I  leaned  my  elbows  on  the  parapet,  and 
watched  the  muddy  waiters  of  the  river  flow  beneath  the  àï-ches;  I 
know  not  what  accursed  thoughts  crossed  my  weak  and  weary  mind;  I 
saw  under  the  most  insupportable  colors  the  future  of  continual  strug- 
gle,, of  dependence  and  humiliation  into  which  I  had  entered  by  the 
door  of  hunger.  1  felt  au  utter  disgus#fbr  Jife,  and  that  to  live  was  to 
tne  an  impossibility  !  At  the  same  instant,  my  heated  blood  ru.«hed  to  my  , 
brain,  my  sight  grew  dim,  and  as  I  bent  downwards  over  the  bridge, 
the  whole  surface  of  the  river  seemed  brilliant  with  sparks  of  fiic. 

I  will  not  say  according  to  the  coniuion  forms  of  speech,  which  I  do 
not  like  :  "  It  was  not  God's  wi}î  that  I  should  drown  myselt  ;"  I  will 
dare  to  eay  :  "  it  v;as  not  my  will  !"  God  made  us  all  free  agents,  and 
21  I  haCf  ever  doubted  it,  this  moment,  during  which  the  soul  and  the 
body,  courage  and  cov/ardicp,  good  and  evil,  contended  in  mortal  com- 
fe&t  within  me,  would  have  silenced  my  doubts  forever. 

Once  more  master  of  myself,  the  water  offered  me  no  other  temptSv- 
tion  than  the  innocetit  one  of  quenching  my  burning  thirst.  Bu£  I  re- 
jected that  I  should  find  much  purer  v/ater  in  my  own  room,  and  I 
■«falked  toward  the  hotel  with  rapid  steps,  picturing  to  myself  the  deli- 
cious pleasure  awaiting  me  there,  and  feeling  astonished  that  I  had  not 
sooner  thought  of  this  espedlent  for  satisfying  my  hunger.  On  my 
%îay  tbiiher  I  met  Ga.stoa  de  Vaux  on  the  Boulevard,  whom  I  had  xi<A 
eetn  for  two  years.     île  .stopped,  after  a  nioment's  hesitation,  ehook  mo 


Tlie  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  Xl 

cordially  by  the  hand,  asked  me  one  or  two  questions  about  my  travels, 
and  quitted  me  hastily.  Then  retracing  hia  steps,  he  said  :  "  My  friend, 
you  must  allow  me  to  associate  you  with  my  good  luck.  I  have  gained 
a  treasure  within  a  few  days;  I  have  received  a  lot  of  cigars,  each  of 
which  costs  me  two  francs,  but  which  are  priceless.  Here  is  one  ;  yoft 
shall  give  me  your  opinion  of  it.     Good  bye." 

I  reached  my  hotel,  and  mounting  with  diflScijlty  my  six  flights  of 
stairs,  entered  my  room,  and  seizing  my  carafe,  drank  eagerly  every 
drop  of  water  it  contained  ;  after  which  I  lighted  my  friend's  cigar, 
and  gave  myself  a  smile  of  encouragement  iç  my  glass.  I  determined 
to  go  out  again,  feeling  certain  that  exercise  and  the  diversion  of  the 
streets  were  both  salutary.  On  opening  my  chamber  door  I  was  sur- 
prised and  displeased  to  see  in  the  narrow  passage  the  wife  of  the  con- 
cierge of  the  hotel,  who  was  very  much  embarrassed  at  my  sudden  ap- 
pearance. This  woman  had  been  in  my  mother's  service,  and  on  her 
marrying,  my  mother,  who  was  much  attached  to  her,  gave  her  the  lu- 
crative place  she  still  held  in  the  hotel.  I  had  remarked  for  several 
days  that  she  seemed  to  watch  me  closely,  and  had  now  almost  caught 
lier  in  the  act.     "  What  do  you  want?"  said  I  angrily. 

•"  Nothing,  Mr.  Maximilian,  nothing,"  answered  she,  greatly  agita- 
ted ;  "  I  came  to  prepare  the  gas."  I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  came 
away.  Night  came.  I  could  then  walk  in  the  most  frequented  places 
without  fear  of  painful  recognition.  I  was  obliged  to  throw  away  my 
cigar,  which  made  me  sick.  My  promenade  lasted  two  or  three  hours 
— cruelly  long  hours.  There  is  something  specially  terrible  in  being  a 
victiui  to  hunger,  that  scourge  of  savage  life,  in  the  midst  of  all  the 
abundance  and  pomp  of  civilization.  It  is  as  if  a  tiger  were  to  spring 
at  your  throat  in  a  crowded  street  in  full  day. 

Hunger  !  It  is  not  then  an  unmeaning  word  !  It  is  a  real  evil,  a 
positive  malady;  there  are  human  beings  who  suffer  ordinarily  and  al- 
most daily  what  I  suffer,  by  chance  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  And 
to  how  many  among  them  is  not  this  suffering  made  keener  by  compli- 
cations which  I  am  spared?  The  only  being  whom  I  care  about  in  the 
world  I  know  is  guarded  from  the  suffering  I  endure  ;  I  fcce  her  dear 
face  ruddy  with  health  and  happiness.  But  those  who  suffer  not  ulone, 
who  hear  beloved  lips  ask  in  vain  for  food,  those  who  sw;  in  their  cold, 
cheerless  homes  only  pale  faces,  and  children  who  know  not  how  to 
smile!     Oh,  unhappy  people  !     Oh,  holy  charity! 

These  reflections  took  away  all  idea  of  lamenting  my  own  condition; 
they  even  gave  me  courage  to  bear  the  trial  to  the  end.  1  could  have 
shortened  its  duration.  There  are  two  or  three  restaurants  whore  I  am 
known,  and  where  I  did  not  scruple  to  enter  when  I  was  rich,  although 
I  had  forgotten  my  purse.  I  could  do  so  now;  nor  would  it  have  boen 
difficult  for  me  to  borrow  a  hundred  sous  in  Paris,  but  these  expedients 
which  savor  of  want  and  trickery,  arc  very  repugnant  to.me.  This  in- 
clination to  borrow  opens  a  slippery  path  for  poor  men,  and  I  will  not 
take  the  first  step  in  it.  I  would  aa  soon  lose  my  sense  of  hcnosty  it- 
self as  to  lose  the  delicacy  which  is  the  crowning  honor  of  thL-»  valgar 
virtue.  1  have  too  often  observed  with  what  terrible  facility  the  exqni- 
site  sentiment  of  honesty  is  lost  i;x  the  most  gifted  fouI.-'  at  ihc  crpt 
2 


18  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

breath  of  poverty,  not  to  Ijeep  a  strict  -watcli  over  myself,  and  to  reject 
as  guilty  those  parleyings  vyith  conscience  which  seem  most  innocent 
Fatigue  and  cold  caused  ma  to  return  at  nine  o'clock.  The  door  of  the 
hotel  was  open,  and  I  had  reached  the  staircase  with  a  light  step,  when 
I  heard  the  sound  of  an  animated  conversation  in  the  lodge  of  the  con- 
cierge, of  which  I  was  apparently  the  subject,  for  at  that  moment  the 
man  pronounced  my  name  with  an  accent  of  contempt. 

"  Be  so  good,  Madame  Vanberger,"  said  he,  "  as  to  leave  me  ia 
peace  about  your  Maximilian.  Is  it  I  who  ruined  him  ?  Well  !  what 
art  thou  talking  about  then  ?  If  he  kills  himself  he  will  be  buried — 
that  is  all  r  ' 

"  I  tell  you,  Vanberger,"  replied  the  woman,  "  it  would  have  broken 
your  heart  to  see  him  gulp  down  the  water  in  his  carafe — and  if  I  bci 
lieved  you  were  in  earnest  in  what  you  say — •'  if  he  kills  himself,  he 
will  be  buried'— but  I  do  not  believe  it,  because  you  are  a  really  kind 
man,  though  you  dont  like  to  be  disturbed.  Think,  Vanberger,.  of 
lacking  both  fire  and  food  !..  A  young  man  who  has  been  fed  all  his 
life  with  dainties,  and  reared  as  carefully  as  a  pet  cat  !  Is  it  not  a 
shame  and  a  disgrace,  and  is  it  not  a  queer  government  which  permits 
such  things?"   *  * 

"  But  the  government  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  Vanberger, 
with  reason  ;  "  and  then  you  are  mistaken,  I  tell  you  j  it  is  not  so  ;  he 
cannot  want  bread — it  is  impossible  !" 

"  Well  !  Vanberger,  I  will  tell  you  all  !  I  have  fdilowed  him,- 1 
.  have  watched  him,  I  have  made  Edward  watch  him  ;  I  am  fiure  that 
he  did  not  dine  yesterday,  that  he  did  not  breakfast  this  morning,  and, 
as  I  searched  all  his  pockets  and  his  drawers  and  there  is  not  a  farth- 
ing in  them,  it  is  certain  that  he  has  not  dined  today,  for  he  is  too 
proud  to  eat  a  dinner  he  cannot  pay  for." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  him  !  When  one  is  poor,  one  should  not 
be  proud,"  replied  the  man,  who  seemed  to  me  to  express  the  senti- 
ments of  %  porter. 

I  wished  to  hear  no  more  of  this  dialogue,  and  ended  it  therefore 
by  opening  the  lodge-door,  and  demanding  a  light  of  Mr.  Vanberger, 
who  could  not  have  been  more  surprised  if  I  had  asked  for  his  head. 
Notwithstanding  my  great  desire  to  be  resolute  before  these  people,  I 
could  not  help  tottering  and  stumbling  once  or  twice  on  the  staircase. 
On  entering  my  chamber,  hitherto  so  icy  cold,  I  was  surprised  and 
touched  to  find  the  temperature  of  the  room  soft  and  warm,  and  a  clear 
fire  burning.  I  was  not  so  rigid  and  harsh  as  to  extinguish  it  ;  I  bless- 
ed the  good  hearts  there  are  in  the  world  ;  I  seated  myself  in  an  old 
velvet  arm-chair  that  had  been  moved  }ike  myself  by  the  reverses  of 
fortune  from  the  drawing-room  to  the  garret,  and  tried  to  sleep.  I  re- 
mained for  half  an  hour  in  a  sort  of  stupor,  during  which  my  dream& 
were  of  plentiful  and  sumptuous  feasts,  when  I  was  roused  by  the  open- 
ing of  the  door.  I  thought  I  was  still  dreaming  when  I  saw  Mrs. 
Vanberger  enter,  bearing  a  large  tray,  on  which  were  two  or  three  sav- 
ory dishes,  smoking  hot.  She  had  placed  her  tray  on  the  floor,  and  was 
spreading  a  cl«th  on  the  table,  before  I  could  rouse  entirely  from  mj 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  19 

lethargy.     I  thea  rose  quickly,  saying,  "  What  is  this  ?    "What  are  you 
doing?" 

Mrs.  Vanberger  pretended  to  be  much  surprised. 

"  Did  you  not  order  a  dinner,  air  ?"        ' 

"  Not  at  all  Edward  has  made  some  mistake  ;  it  must  be  another 
lodger." 

"  But  there  is  no  other  lodger  on  the  same  floor,  sir  ;  I  do  not  un- 
derstand." 

"  At  any  rate  it  is  not  I.     What  do  you  wish  to  say  ?    You  trouble  . 
me  !     Carry  it  away  !" 

The  poor  woman  began  to  fold  the  table-cloth  with  a  sad  air,  casting 
or.  me  the  imploring  looks  of  a  dog  that  has  been  whipped.  "  Tou 
have  probably  dined,  sir  ?"  she  resumed  in  a  timid  voice. 

"Probably."   . 

"  It  is  a  great  pity,  for  the  dinner  was  all  ready;  now  it  will  be  lost, 
and  the  little  boy  will  be  scolded  by  his  father.     If  by  any  chance  you^, 
have  not  dined,  you  would  greatly  oblige  me" 

I  stamped  my  foot  angrily.  "  Gro  away,  go  ;"  then  as  she  went  I  ap- 
proached her,  and  said,  "  My  good  Louison,  I  understand  you;  I  thank 
you,  but  I  am  not  very  well  to-night,  and  I  am  not  hungry." 

"Ah  !  Mr.  Maximilian,"  she  said,  weeping,  "if  you  knew  how  you 
mortify  me  !  Well,  you  shall  pay  me  for  the  dinner,  if  you  wish;  you 
shall,  put  money  into  my  hand  when  it  returns  to  you — but  you  may 
be  sure  that  if  you  were  to  give  me  a  hundred  thousand  francs  it  would 
not  cause  me  half  as  much  pleasure  as  to  see  you  eat  my  poor  dinner  !  It 
would  be  bestowing  a  charity  upon  me!  You  who  have  a  heart,  and 
you  ought  to  understand  this." 

"  Well,  my  dear  Louison,  what  do  you  want?  I  cannot  give  you  a 
hundred  thousand  francs,  but  I  will  eat  your  dinner.  You  may  leave 
me — will  you  not?'' 

"  Yes,  sir.  Ah!  thank  you,  sir  ;  I  thank  you  very  much,  sir.  You 
have  a  good  heart." 

"  And  a  good  appetite  also,  Louison.  Give  me  your  hand;  do  not 
be  afraid,  I  shall  put  no  money  in  it.     There good  by." 

The  excellent  woman  went  out  sobbing. 

I  had  just  finished  writing  these  lines,  after  doing  honor  to  Louison's 
dinner,  when  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  firm,  heavy  step;  at  the  same 
time  I  could  distinguish  the  voice  of' my  humble  providence  speaking 
in  an  agitated  but  confident  tone.  A  few  minutes  after,  some  one 
knocked  at  my  door,  and,  as  Louison  moved  aside,  the  solemn  profile 
of  the  old  notary  appeared  in  the  doorway  as  in  a  frame.  Mr.  Laube- 
pin  threw  a  rapid  glance  on  the  tray,  where  I  had  placed  the  remaind 
of  my  repast;  then  advancing  toward  mc  and  opening  his  arms  with  a 
gesture  at  once  of  reproach  and  confusion  :  "  Marquis,"  said  he,  "why, 
in  the  name  of  heaven,  did  you  not  come  to  me  ?"  Ile  interrupted 
himself,  crossed  the  room  several  times  with  great  strides — "  Young 
man,"  he  resumed,  "it  is  wrong;  you  have  wounded  a  friend,  you 
have  made  an  old  man  blush  !"  He  was  greatly  moved.  I  looked  at 
him,  a  little  touched  myself,  not  knowing  how  to  answer  him,  when  he 
drew  me  to  hiiu,  and  pressing  mc  to  his  breast,  murmured  in  my  ear, 


20  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

"My  poor  boy!"    There  was  a  moment's  silence  between  us;  tLea 
seating  ourselves,  Mr.  Laubepin  addressed  me  : 

"  Maximilian,  are  you  still  of  the  same  mind  as  when  I  last  saw  yoa  ? 
Have  you  the  courage  to  accept  the  humblest  labor,  the  mostmodest 
employment,  provided  it  be  honorable,  which  while  assuring  your  own 
personal  subsistence,  will  also  preserve  your  sister  from  the  griefs  and 
dangers  of  poverty  in  the  present  and  future  ?" 

"Very  certainly;  such  is  my  duty,  and  I  am  ready  to  do  it." 

"  In  that  case,  my  friend,  listen  to  me.  I  have  just  come  from 
Brittany.  There  lives  in  that  ancient  province  a  wealthy  family  of  the 
name  of  Laroque,  whose  entire  confidence  I  have  been  honored  with 
for  many  long  years.  This  family  is  now  rcprei-ented  by  an  old  man 
and  two  women,  who  are  equally  unfitted  by  age.and  character  for  bu- 
siness affairs.  They  possess  a  considerable  estate,  the  managennent  of 
which  has  been  for  a  long  time  intrusted  to  a  steward,  whom  I  tonjc  the 
liberty  of  considering  a  knave.  The  next  d.-îy  after  our  interview^ 
Maximilian,  I  received  the  news  of  this  person's  desth;  I  set  out,  im- 
mediately for  the  chateau  Laroque,  and  appliecl  irr  the  vacant  situation 
for  you.  I  placed  great  stress  on  your  professional  cduration,  but  more 
particularly  on  your  moral  qualities.  According  to  your  desire  I  siave 
not  spoken  of  your  birth  ;  you  are,  and  will  be  known  in  the  house 
only  as  Maximilian  Odiot.  You  will  live  in  a  separate  building,  where 
your  meals  will  be  served  when-BOt  agreeable  to  you  t(.  take  a  seat  at 
the  family  table.  Your  salary  is  fixed  sA  six  thousand  francs  a  year. 
Does  it  suit  you?" 

"It  suits  me  marvellously  well  ;  and  the  forepight  and  delicacy  of 
your  friendship  touches  me  deeply;  but,  to  tell  you  the  truth^  I  fear  I 
shall  be  a  little  strange,  a  little  new  at  my  busines;." 

"  Reassure  yourself  on  this  point.  My  sciuplea,  ray  frierd,  have 
preceded  yours,  and  I  have  concealed  nothing  from  those  irtcrested, 
'  Madame,'  said  I  to  my  most  excellent  frie^id,  Mrs  L'.roque,  '  you  need 
a  steward  for  your  estate,  and  I  offer  you  one.  He  is  far  from  possess- 
ing the  capacity  of  his  predecessor;  he  is  not  versed  in  the  niypteriea 
of  leases  and  rents;  he  knows  not  the  first  word  of  the  bursiness  that 
you  will  be  pleased  to  confide  to  him  ;  he  bus  m  t  the  special  knowledge, 
not  the  practice,  not  the  experience,  nothing  of  Jill  that  which  he  must 
know  ;  but  he  has  something  that  his  prgdoccssor  lacked,  that  sixty 
,  years  of  practice  did  not  give  him,  and  that  ten  thousand  years  would 
not  have  given  him,  moreover  :  he  has,  madame,  honesty.  I  have  seen 
him  pass  through  the  fire,  and  I  can  answer  for  him.  I'ake  him,  you  mil 
oblige  both  me  and  him  also.'  Mrs.  Laroque  laughed,  young  man,  at 
my  style  of  recommending  people;  hut,  after  fll,  it  seemed  a  good 
style,  since  it  succeeded." 

The  worthy  old  man  then  offered  to  give  roe  some  elementary  and 
general  ideas  upon  the  nature  of  the  busincsrs  with  wh'ch  I  .was  to  be 
intrusted;  he  also  gave  me  some  documents  relative  to  the  interests  of 
the  Laroque  family,  which  he  had  taken  the  troi.ble  to  collect  and  put 
in  order  for  me,  * 

"  And  when,  my  deaï  sir,  ought  I  set  out  ?'' 

"  Why  really,  my  dear  boy,"  (it  was  go  longer  '•  Marquis,'')  "  the 


Whe  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man,  21 

sooner  the  better,  for  those  people  down  there  are  not  capable  among 
them  all  of  writing  a  receipt.  My  excellent  friend,  Mrs.  Laroque  iu 
particular,  a  woman  otherwise  in  every  way  praiseworthy,  is  neglectful, 
careless  and  childish  in  business  matters  to  a  degree  that  can  hardly 
be  imagined.     She  is  a  Creole." 

"  Ah  !  she  is  a  Creole  ?"  I  repeated  with  some  vivacity. 

"  Yes,  young  man,  she  is  an  old  Creole,"  replied  Mr.  Laubepln,  dri- 
ly. "  Her  husband  was  a  Breton,  but  these  details  will  oome  in  their 
own  time.  '.  For  to-morrow,  Maximilian,  have  good  courage.  .Ah  !  I 
forgot  ;  Thursday  morning  before  I  set  out,  I  did  something  which 
will  not  be  disagreaable  to  you.  You  had  among  your  creditors,  seve- 
ral knaves,  whose  dealings  with  your  father  had  evidently  been  usu- 
rious; armed  with  legal  thunderbolts,  I  have  reduced  their  demands 
one-half,  and  have  obtained  receipts  for  payment  in  full.  There  re- 
mains to  you  definitively,  a  capital  of  five  thousand  francs.  By  adding 
to  this  sum  the  amount  you  can  lay  aside  yearly  out  of  your  salary,  we 
shall  have  in  ten  years  a  pretty  dowry  for  Helen.  Come  to-morrow  ^o 
breakfast  with  Master  Laubepin,  and  we  will  settle  everything.  Good 
night,  Maximilian  ;  gooi  night,  my  dear  child.'' 

"  May  God  bless  you,  sir." 


Chateau  de  Laroque  (b'arz),  May  1. 

I  quitted  Paris  yesterday.  My  last  interview  with  Mr.  Laubepin 
tyas  sad.  I  have  promised  a  son's  affection  to  the  old  man.  Then 
I  went  to  bid  Helen  farewell.  In  order  to  make  her  understand  the 
necessity  for  my  engaging  in  some  employment  it  was  impossible  to 
avoid  telling  her  a  portion  of  the  truth  ;  I  therefore  spoke  of  some 
temporary  embarrassment  of  fortune.  The  poor  child  comprehended 
more  than  I  told  her,  I  believe,  for  her  large  eyes  wide  open  with  as- 
tonishment, filled  with  tears,  and  she  'sprang  up  and  clasped  nie  around 
the  neck.  ^  -• 

At  length  I  set  out.  The  railroad  carried  me  as  far  as. Rennes, 
where  I  passed  the  night.  This  morning  I  took  my  seat  in  a  diligence, 
which  put  me  down  five  or  six  hours  later,  at  the  village  of  Morbihan, 
a  short  distance  from  the  Chateau  de  Laroque.  I  had  travelled  a  dozen 
leagues  this  side  of  Rennes  without  forming  a  judgment  of  the  repu- 
>  tation  for  picturesque  scenery  which  the  old  Armorica  enjoys  in  the 
world.  A  flat  country,  green  and  monotonous,  with  eternal  apple-trees 
in  eternal  meadows,  tne  ditches  and  wooded-slopes  bounding  the  view 
ou  both  sides. of  the  road,  or,  at  most,  showing  little  corners^  of  rural 
grace  :  blouses  and  glazed  hats  to  animate  these  "  vulgar  pictures" — 
all  this  caused  me  strongly  to  think  that  the  old,  poetic  Brittany  was 
only  .a  pretentious  and  even  pitiful  sister  of  Lower  Norma^ndy.  Weary 
of  cheats  and  apple-trees,  I  had  ceased  for  an  hour  to  pay  the  Ica.'^t  at- 
t'^ption  to  the  landscape,  and  had  fallen  into  a  doze  when  Ï  via?  roused 
ff  the  unusual  pitching  forward  of  our  heavy  vehicle;  at  the  same 
time  the  pace  of  the  horses  slackened  sensibly,  and  a  noise  of  old  iron, 
accompanied  by  a  peculiar  friction,  announced  to  mc  that  the  condac* 


22  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  ^  Young  Man. 

tor  was  puttitfg  the  shoe  on  the  wheel  of  the  diligence.  An  old  lady, 
who  was  seated  near  me,  seized  ray  arm  with  that  lively  sympathy 
which  a  community  of  danger  gives  birth  to. 

I  put  my  head  out  of  the  door  j  we  were  descending  between  two 
high  banks,  a  steep  declivity — the  notion  of  some  engineer  who  was 
too  great  a  friend  of  the  straight  line.  With  the  wheels  of  the  dili- 
gence half  sliding,  half  rolling,  we  were  not  long  in  finding  ourselves 
in  a  narrow^  gloomy  valley,  at  the  bottom  of  which  a  little  stream  ran 
sadly  and  noiselessly  among  thick  reeds;  ov^  tbese  shaking  banks 
hung  some  old  trunks  of  trees,  twisted  together  and  covered  with  moes. 
The  road  crossed  the  stream  on  a  bridge  of  a  single  arch,  and  ascend- 
ed the  opposite  hill,  then  passed  over  a  vast  heath,  arid  and  absolutely  * , 
bai*e,  which  reached  to  the  verge  of  the  horizon  in  front  of  us.  By 
the  side  of  the  road  and  near  the  bridge  stood  a  ruined  house,  the  look 
of  utter  desolation  of  which  struck  the  heart.  A  robust  young  man 
was  cutting  wood  before  the  door;  a  black  string  fastened  his  long, 
light  yellow  hair  behind.  He  raised  his  head,  and  I  was  surprised  at 
the  strange  character  of  his  features,  at  the  calm  look  of  his  blue  eyes; 
he  saluted  me  in  an  unknown  language,  tvittf  a  sweet  but  uncultivated 
accent.  A  woman  sat  at  the  window  of  the  cottage  spinning  ;  her  head- 
dt-ess  and  the  cut  of  her  garments  reproduced  with  th'eatrical  exactness 
a  picture  of  the  stone  images  one  sees  reposing  on  tombs.  These  peo- 
ple had  not  the  appearance  of  peasants;  they  had  to  a  high  degree 
that  easy,  gracious,  and  dignified  bearing  that  is  known  as  l'air  distin- 
gue. Their  physiognomy  wore  that  sad  and  dreamy  expression  that  I 
have  often  remarked  with  emotion  among  those  people  whose  national- 
ity is  lost.       '       ■ 

I  got  out  of  the  diligence  and  walked  up  the  hill.  The  heath  ex- 
tended all  around  me  further  than  I  could  see  ;  everywhere  htingry 
rushes  were  tangled  over  a  black  earth  ;  here  and  there  were  ravines, 
abandoned  quarries,  a  few  rocks  .breaking  through  the  ground  ;  not  a 
single  tree.  But  when  I  reached  the  plateau  I  saw  on  my  right  the 
^rk  line  of  the  heath  cut  in  the  distance,  a  band  of  the  horizon  more 
distant  yet,  slightly  indented,  blue  as  the  sea,  flooded  with  sunlight  and 
which  seemed  to  open  in  the  midst  of  this  desolatç  place  the  sudden 
perspective  of  some  shining  and  fairy  region  :  this  was  Brittany. 

I  had  to  hive  a  man  in  the  little  village  of to  take  me  the 

two  leagues  yet  remaining  of  my  journey.  During  this  long  slow  drive 
I  have  an  indistinct  remembrance  qf  seeing  pass  under  my  eyes,  woods, 
lakes,  and  oases  of  fresh  verdure  concealed  in  the  valleys  ;  but  on  ap- 
praching  the  Chateau  de  Laroque,  I  was  filled  with  a  thousand  painful 
thoughts. which  left  little  place  for  the  impressions  of  the  tourist.    .  • 

A  few  moments  later  and  I  should  enter  an  unknown  family  on  a 
footing  of  a  sort  of  disguised  servitude,  with  a  title  which  would  hard- 
ly secure  me. the.  consideration  and  respect  of  the  menials  of  the  house; 
this  was  new  for  me.  At  the  moment  when  Mr.  Laubepin  proposed  to 
me  this  situation  of  steward,  all  my  instincts,  all  my  habits  rose  in  T*»-- 
bellion  against  the  character  of  dependence  particularly  attached  '-ij 
such  an  office.  T  believed,  however,  that  I  could  not  refuse  without 
inflicting  a  wound  and  discouraging  the  eager  efforts  of  my  old  friend 


^he  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.'  23 

an  my  favor.  Besides,  I  could  not  hope  to  obtain  for  several  years,  in 
a  more  independent  position,  the  advantages  which  this  offered  me  from 
the  beginning,  and  which  permitted  me  to  work  at  once  for  my  sister's 
future  benefit.  I  therefore  subdued  my  repugnance,  my  prejudices; 
but  they  had*  been  very  keen,  and  they  were  reawakened  with  more 
strength  when  I  was  face  to  face  with  the  reality.  I  repeated  to  my- 
self that  there  is  no  situation  so  humble  that  personal  dignity  cannot 
sustain  itself,  and  even  elevate  the  place.  Then  I  marked  out  my  plan 
of  conduct  toward  the  members  of  the  Laroque  family,  promising  my- 
self to  display  a  conscientious  zeal  for  their  interests,  and  a  proper 
deference  for  their  persons,  equally  removed  from  servility  and  rude- 
ness. But  I  could  not  conceal  from  myself  that  this  last  part  of  my  task, 
the  most  delicate  without  contradiction,  would  be  simplified  or  compli- 
cated by  the  special  nature  of  the  characters  and  minds  I  was  about  to 
find  myself  in  contact  with. 

Laubepin  was  obstinately  resenved  on  this  point,  though  he  acknow- 
ledged that  my  eagerness  to  gain  information  was  perfectly  reasonable. 
But  at  the  moment  of  my  departure,  he  put  a  confidential  letter  into 
my  hands,  recommending  me  to  tla-ow  it  into  the  fire,  as  soon  as  I  was 
master  of  its  contents.  I  took  this  letter  from  my  portfolio,  and  stu- 
died its  sibyllic  words,  which  I  will  copy  here  exactly  : 

"  Chateau  de  Laeoque  (d'Arz). 

"  List  of  persons  who  inhabit  the  above  named  chateau. 

"  I.  Mr.  Laroque  TLouis  Auguste),  an  octogenarian,  head  of  the 
family  and  chief  founaer  of  its  fortune,  an  old  sailor,  celebrated  under 
the  first  empire  as  a  licensed  privateer;  he  acquired  his  wealth  upon 
the  sea  by  honest  enterprises  of  different  kinds;  for  a  long  time  a  resi- 
dent of  the  colonies.  Orjginally  from  Brittany,  he  returned  to  his  na- 
tive province  thirty  years  ago,  accompanied  by  his  only  son,  the  late 
Pierre- Antoine  Laroque,  husbaud  of 

"  II.  Mrs.  Laroque  (Josephine-Clara),  daughter-in-law  of  the  above- 
named;  a  Creole  by  birth,  aged  forty  years;  indolent  and  romantic  in 
character  ;  is  fanciful  ;  an  excellent  soul.  < 

"  III.  Miss  Laroque  (Marguerite  Louise),  grand-daughter,  daugh- 
ter, and  presumptive  heiress  of  the  before-named  persons,  aged  twenty 
years;  Creole  and  Bretonnese;  has  idle  fancies;  a  fine  mind. 

"  IV.  Mrs.  Aubry,  widow  of  Mr.  Aubry,  exchange  broker,  deceased 
in  Belgium;  a  second  cousin,  received  as  an  inmate  of  the  house;  sour 
and  crabbed. 

"  v.  Miss  Hclouin  (Caroline  Gabrille),  aged  twenty-six  ;  a  former 
governess,  now  a  companion;  mind  cultivated;  character  doubtful. 

"  Burn  this." 

This  document  has  been  very  useful  to  me,  notwithstanding  it?  re- 
serve, for  it  dissipated  my  horror  of  the  unknown,  the  half  of  my  fears. 
Besides,  if  there  were,  as  Mr.  Laubepin  asserted,  two  beautiful  char- 
acters in  the  Chateau  dc  Laroque,  it  was  certainly  a  greater  proportion 
than  one  had  any  right  to  hope  for  among  its  five  inhabitants. 

After  two  hours'  travcllingj  the  carriage  stopped  before  a  barred 


24     .        ,  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 


• 


gate,  flanked  by  two  pavilions,  whicli  were  occupied  by  a  porter.     I 
left  my  baggage  there,  and  walked  towards  tbe  chateau,  carrying  my 
little  carpet-bag  in  one  hand,  and  beheading  with  blows  of  my  cane, 
held  in  the  other  hand,  the  daises  which  peeped  through  the  turf. 
After  walking  several 'hundred  yards  between  two»rows  of  encyrmous 
chestnut  trees,  I  found  myself  in  a  large,  circular- shaped  garden,  which 
seemed  -to  transform  itself  into  a  park  at  a  little  distance.     I  perceived 
on  both  right  and  left  deep  perspectives,  opened  between  dense  thick- 
ets already  green,  bits  of  water  glimmering  under  the  trees,  and  white 
boats  housed  under  rustic  roofs.     Before  me  rose  the  chateau,  of  con- 
siderable size,  built  in  the  elegant  half-Italian  style  of  the  early  days 
of  Louis  XIII.     It  was  surrounded  by  a  terrace  which  formed  a  kind 
of  private  garden  in  front,  and  was  accessible  by  several  broad,  low 
steps.     The  stately  and  smiling  aspect  of  this  building  really  disap- 
pointed me,  and  this  feeling  did  not  diminish  when  on  approaching  the 
terrace  I  heard  the  sound  of  young  and  joyful  voices  above  the  tink- 
ling of  a  more  "distant  piano.     I  was  decidedly  entering  a  house  of 
pleasure,  instead  of  the  old  rigid  castle  I  had  chosen  to  imagine.  How- 
ever, this  was  not  a  tiuie  for  reflection  ;  I  slowly  ascended  the  steps 
and  found  myself  in  front  of  a  scene  which,  under  other  circumstan- 
ces, I  should  have  admired.     Half  a  dozen  laughing  young  girls  were 
twirling  in  couples  on  the  turf  of  the  parterre,  while  a  piano,  touched 
by  a  skillful  hand,  sent  them  through  an  open  window  the  measures  of 
an  impetuous  waltz.     I  had  hardly  time  to  see  the  animated  faces  of 
the  dancers,  their  disordered  hair,  their  large  hats  flapping  upon  their 
shoulders  ;    my  sudden  apparition  was  saluted  by  a  general  shout,  fol- 
lowed instantly  by  profound  silence  ;  the  dancing  ceased,  and  the  band, 
ranged  in  order  of  battle,  gravely  waited  for  the  stranger  to  pass.    The 
stranger  had  stopped,  not,  however,  without  exhibiting  a  little  embar- 
rassment.    Although  my  mind  had  not  for  a  long  time  been  directed 
to  social  pretensions,  I  confess  that  at  that  moment  I  should  have  sold 
my  travelling-bag  at  a  very  low  price.     But  if  was  necessary  for  me  to 
act.     As  I  advanced,  hat  in  hand,  toward  the  double  staircase  leading 
to  the  vestibule  of  the  chateau,  the  music  ceased,  and  there  appeared 
first  at  the  open  window  an  enormous  Newfoundland  dog,  which  rested 
his  leonine  muzzle  on  the  window-sill  between  his  two  hairy  paws;  then 
an  instant  afterward  a  tall  young  girl  presented  herself  j  her  slightly 
brown  and  earnest  face  was  set  in  a  frame  as  it  were  of  thick,  shining 
black  hair.     Her  eyes,  which  were  extraordinarily  large,  examined  the 
scene  passing  outside  with  indifferent  curiosity.     "  Ah,  well  !  what  is 
the  matter  ?"  said  she,  in  a  calm  voice.     I  made  her  a  low  bow,  and 
once  more  execrating  my  travelling  bag,  hastened  up  the  flight  of 
•Steps. 

A  grey-haired  servant  dressed  in  black  took  my  name.  I  was  shown 
a  few  minutes  later  into  a  large  drawing-room  hung  with  yellow  silk, 
w^here  I  recognized  at  once  the  young  person  whom  I  had  seen  at  the 
window,  and  who  was  extremely  beautiful.  Near  the  bright  fire  a 
middle-aged  lady,  whose  features  showed  her  to  be  a  Creole,  sat  in  a 
large  arm-chair,  almost  buried  in  its  eider-down  cushions  of  all  sizes 
and  shapes.    A  tripod  of  antique  form,  placed  over  a  lighted  hrasero, 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  3Ian.  25 

stood  at  her  side,  and  she  frequently  held  to  it;  her  thin  pale  hands. 
By  the  side  of  Mrs.  Laroque  was  seated  a  lad}',  knitting;  her  morose 
and  disagreeable  countenance  made  me  recognize  her  as  unquestiona- 
bly the  "second  cousin,  widow  of  the  exchange  broker,  deceased  in 
Belgium." 

The  first  look  which  Mrs.  Laroque  gave  me  was  stamped  with  sur- 
prise bordering  on  stupidity.     She  made  me  repeat  my  name — 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir  i" 

"  Odiot,  madame." 

"  Maximilian  Odiot,  the  agent,  the  steward  from  Mr.  Laubepin?" 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  Are  you  very  sure  ?" 

I  could  not  help  smiling.     "  Yes,  madame,  perfectly  sure." 

She  cast  a  rapid  glance  on  the  exchange  broker's  widow,  then  on  the 
young  girl  with  the  earnest  face,  as  if  to  say  "  Only  imagine  it  !"  Af- 
ter which  she  fidgetted  slightly  among  her  cushions  and  resumed  : 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  be  seated,  Mr.  Odiot.  1  thank  you  very  much 
for  devoting  your  talents  to  our  service.  We  are  in  great  need  of  your 
assistance,  1  assure  you,  for  it  cannot  be  denied  that  we  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  very  rich." 

Perceiving  that  her  second  cousin  shrugged  her  shoulders  at  these 
words,  she  went  on  :  "  Yes,  my  dear  Mrs.  Aubry,  I  think  so.  In  ma- 
king me  rich,  God  wished  to  try  me.  I  was  born  positively  for  pover- 
ty, for  privation,  for  devotion  and  sacrifice  ;  but  I  have  always  been 
thwarted.  For  example,  I  should  have  loved  to  have  an  infirm  hus- 
band. Well  !  Laroque  was  a  man  of  the  most  robust  health.  You 
see  how  my  destiny  has  been  and  will  be  missed  from  one  end  of  life 
to  the  other." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Mrs.  Aubry,  harshly  ;  "  povetty  would  be  a  fine 
thing  for.you  who  cannot  deny  yourself  any  refinementy  any  luxury." 

"  Allow  me,  dear  madame,"  replied  Mrs.  Laroque,  "  I  have  no  taste 
for  useless  sacrifices.  If  I  were  to  condemn  myself  to  endure  the 
hardest  privations,  who  or  what  would  be  benefited  thereby?.  If  I 
were  to  freeze  from  morning  till  night,  would  you  be  any  happier?" 

Mrs.  Aubry  made  us  understand  by  an  expressive  gesture  that  she 
should  be  no  happier,  but  that  she  thought  Mrs.  Laroque's  language 
prodigiously  affected  and  ridiculous. 

"After  all,"  continued  the  latter,  " happy  or  unhappy,  it  matters 
little.  We  are  very  rich,  Mr.  Odiot,  and  though  I  had  little  to  do  with 
the  making  of  this  fortune,  it  is  my  duty  to  preserve  it  for  my  daugh- 
ter, although  the  poor  child  cares  no  more  for  it  than  I  do  myself — is 
it  not  so.  Marguerite  ?" 

At  this  question  a  feeble  smile  was  visible  on  the  disdainful  lips  of 
Miss  Marguerite,  and  her  eyebrows  were  slightly  raised;  after  which, 
this  dignified  and  superb  physiognomy  regained  its  repose. 

"Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Laroque,  "you  shall  be  shown  the  apartments  that 
have  been  prepared  for  you  at  the  express  desire* of  Mr.  Laubepin; 
but,  previous  to  that,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  visit  my  father-in-law, 
who  will  be  glad  to  see  you  ?    Will  you  ring,  my  dear  cousin  ?    I 


26  The  Romance  oj  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

hope,  Mr.  Odiot,  that  you  will  do  us  the.  pleasure  to  dine  with  us  to-day," 
Good  morning." 

I  was  confided  to  the  care  of  a  servant,  who  begged  me  to  wait  in  a 
room  adjoining  that  which  I  had  just  quitted  till  be  had  received  his 
orders  from  Mr.  Laroque.  This  man  had  left  the  door  half  open,  and 
it  was  impossible  not  to  hear  these  words,  spoken  by  Mrs.  Laroque,  in 
the  tone  of  ironical  good  nature,  evidently  habitual  to  her  :  "  €an  any 
one  understand  Laubepin,  who  promised  me  an  honest,  sober,  middle- 
aged  man,  and  who  sends  me  a  young  gentleman  like  that  ?" 

Miss  Marguerite  murmured  several  words,  which  escaped  me,  to  my 
regret,  I  confess,  and  to  which  her  mother  replied  :  "  I  do  not  contra- 
dict you,  my  daughter;  but  that  does  not  render  it  any  the  less  ridicu- 
lous on  Laubepin's  part.  IIow  can  you  suppose  that  such  a  gentleman 
will  go  trotting  in  wooden  shoes  over  the  ploughed  fields  ?  I  wager 
that  man  never  put  on  wooden  shoes  ;  he  does  not  even  know  what  they 
are;  Well  !  it  is  perhaps  one  of  my  faults,  but  I  cannot  imagine  a  good 
steward  without  wooden  shoes.  Tell  me,  Marguerite,  now  I  think  of 
it.  if  you  will  conduct  him  to  your  grandfather  ?" 

Marguerite  came  immediately  into  the  room  where  I  was.  On  see- 
ing me,  she  seemed  scarcely  pleased.  "I  beg  pardon,  Miss;  but  the 
servant  desired  me  to  wait  here  for  him.'* 

"Be  so  good  as  to  follow  me,  sir." 

I  followed  her.  She  led  me  up  a  staircase,  through  several  corri- 
dors, and  showed  me  into  a  gallery,  where  she  left  me.  I  began  to 
examine  the  pictures  suspended  on  the  walls.  These  were  mostly  very 
inferior  sea-pieces  devoted  to  the  glory  of  the  old  privateers  of  the 
Empire.  There  were  several  pictures  of  sea-fights,  a  little  smoked,  in 
which  it  was  evident  that  the  little  brig  Amiable,  Captain  Laroque, 
twenty-six  guns,  tfad  caused  John  Bull  serious  disasters.  Then  came 
full-length  portraits  of  Captain  Laroque,  which  naturally  attracted  my 
special  attentiofi-.  They  all  represented,  with  some  slight  variations,  a 
man  of  gigantic  size,  wearing  a  sort  of  republican  uniform,  with  large 
facings,  long-haired,  like  Kleber,  and  sending  right  before  him  an  en- 
ergetic fiery  look;  on  the  whole,  a  man  who  had  little  that  was  pleas- 
ing about  him.  As  I  was  studying  curiously  this  figurQ,  which  realized 
wonderfully  the  general  idea  of  a  privateer,  and  even  of  a  pirate,  Mar- 
guerite came  and  begged  me  to  enter  another  room.  I  there  found 
myself  in  the  presence  of  a  thin,  decrepit  old  man,  whose  eyes  hardly 
preserved  the  vital  spark,  and  who,  to  welcome  me,  touched  with  a 
tremulous  hand  the  black  silk  cap  which  covered  his  bald  head,  as 
shining  as  ivory. 

"  Grandfather,"  said  Miss  Marguerite,  raising  her  voice,  "  this  is 
Mr.  Odiot."        ...  .  .      .  .       ■ 

The  poor  old  captain  raised  himself  a  little  in  his  arm-chair,  as  he 
looked  at  me  with  a  dull,  uncertain  expression.  I  seated  myself  at  a 
sign  from  Marguerite,  who  repeated:  " Mr.  Odiot,  the  new  steward, 
grandfather." 

"Ah  !  good  day,  sir,"  murmured  the  old  man.  A  most  painful  si- 
lence ensued.  Captain  Laroque  continued  to  watch  me  with  his  blear- 
ed eyes  as  he  sat  bent  double,  and  his  head  hanging  down.     At  length, 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  27 

seeming  to  recollect  an  inter.esting  subject  of  conversation,  he  said  to 
me  in  a  deep,  hollow  voice,  "  Mr.  de  Beauchênc  is  dead  !" 

I  could  make  no  answer  to  this  unexpected  communication  ;  I  was 
ignorant  who  this  de  Beauchêne  could  be,  and  as  Marguerite  did  not 
give  herself  the  trouble  to  explain  to  me,  I  could  only  express  by  some 
feeble  exclamation  of  condolence  the  share  I  took  in  this  sad  event  This 
was  not  apparently  to  the  tas^e  of  the  old  sailor,  for  he  repeated  the 
moment  after,  in  the  same  lugubrious  tone  :  "  Mr.  d©  Beauchêne  is 
dead  !" 

ÎI3'  emba'rrassment  was  redoubled  by  this  persistency.  I  saw  Miss 
3Iarguerite's  foot  beat  the  floor  wRh  impatience;  I  was  in  despair,  and 
unhickily  expressed  the  first  thought  which  cjtmcinto  my  mind:  "Ah! 
and  of  what  did  he  die  V 

This'  question  had  scarcely  escaped  my  lips  when  an  angry  glance 
from  Marguerite  warned  me  that  I  was  suspected  of  I  know  not  what 
irreverent  raillery.  Feeling  I  had  been  guilty  of  a  silly  blunder,  I  was 
anxious  to  give  the  interview  a  happier  turn.  I  spoke  of  the  pictures 
in  the  gallery,  of  the  emotions  they  must  recall  to  the  captain,  of  the 
respectful  interest  I  felt  in  seeing  the  hero  of  such  glorious  deeds.  I 
even  entered  into  details,  and  instanced  two  or  three  combats  in  which 
the  brig  Amiable  seemed  to  me  to  have  really  ^iccomplishcd  miraclcf. 
Though  I  was  giving  such  a  proof  of  courtesy  and  good  taste,  Mis^s 
Marguerite,  to  my  extreme  surprise,  continued  to  look  at  me  with  mani- 
fest discontent  and  vexation.  Her  grandfather,  however,  listened  at- 
tentively, raising  his  head  little  by  little.  A  strange  smile  lighted  up 
his  thin  face,  and  seemed  to  efface  the  wrinkles.  Suddenly  placing  his 
hands  on  the  arms  of  his  chair,  he  rose  to  his  full  height;  a  warlike 
flame  shot  from  his  deep-sunk  eyes,  and  he  cried  in  a  loud  voice  that 
made  me  tremble  :  "  Up  with  the  helm  !  To  windward  !  Fire  the 
larboard  guns  !  Come  alongside  !,  Throw  the  grappling  irons!  Quick! 
We  hold  him  !  Fire  high  i  Sweep  his  deck  !  Now  together  !  Fall 
upon  the  English,  the  cursed  Saxon  !  Hurrah  !"  In  uttering  this 
last  shout,  which  rattled  in  his  throat,  the  '  old  man,  vainly  supported 
by  the  pious  hands  of  his  grand-daughter,  fell  as  if  crushed 'into  his 
arm-chair.  Miss  Laroque  made  me  an  imperious  sign,  and  I  left  the 
room.  I  found  my  way  back  as  well  as  I  could,  through  the  maze^f 
passages  and  stairca.ses,  felicitating  myself  warmly  on  the  wit  and  dis- 
cretion I  had  displayed  in  my  interview  with  Jhe  old  captain  of  the 
Amiable, 

The  grey-haired  servant  who  received  me  on  my  arrival,  and  whose 
name  was  x\lain,  I  found  waiting  for  me  in  the  vestibule  to  tell  me  from 
Mrs.  Larotjue  that  I  had  no  time  to  visit  my  apartments  to  drc.«s 
before  dinner — that  I  was  very  well  as  I  was.  At  the  moment  when  I 
entered  the  saloon,  some  twenty  persons  were  about  leaving  it,  with  the 
usual  ceremony,  to  go  to  the  dining-foom.  It  was  the  first  time  since 
the  change  in  my  condition,  that  I  had  mingled  in  society.  Accustom- 
ed to  the  preference  which  etiquette  accords  in  genei'al  to  birth  and 
fortune,  I  did  not  receive  without  a  bitter  feeling  this  fir.'^t  indication 
of  the  neglect  arid  disdain  to  which  my  new  situation  inevitably  con- 
demns me.    Repressing  as  I  best  could  the  mutinous  feelings,  I  offered 


28  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

my  arm  to  a  young  girl,  short,  but  well-formed  and  graceful,  who  re- 
mained alone  behind  the  guests,  and  who  was,  as  I  supposed  her  to  be, 
Helouin,  the  governess.  My  place  at  table  was  near  hers.  Aa  the 
company  were  seating  themselves,  Marguerite  appeared,  like  Antigone, 
guiding  the  slow  and-  dragging  steps  of  her  grandfather.  She  seated 
herself  on  my  right,  with  that  air  of  tranquil  majesty  which  becoYnes 
her  so  well,  and  the  powerful  Newfoundland,  seemingly  the  authorized 
guardian  of  this  princess,  was  not  long  hx  posting  himself  as  a  sentinel. 
I  expressed  to  my  neighbor,  without  delay,  thef  regret  I  felt  at  having 
so  awkwardly  evoked  memories  that  agitated  her  grandfather  in  so  sad 
a  manner. 

"  It  is  I,  who  ought  to  make  excuses,  sir,"»  she  answered,  "  I  ought 
to  have  told  you  we  must  not  speak  of  the  English  before  my  grand- 
father.    Are  you  familiar  with  Brittany?" 

I  replied  that  I  had  not  seen  the  province  before  this  day,  but  that 
I  was  very  glad  to  become  acquainted  with  itj  and  in  order  to  prove 
•that  I  was  worthy  of  it,  I  spoke  in  a  poetic  strain  of  the  picturesque 
and  beautiful  scenery  I  had  passed  through.  I  thought  this  adroit 
flattery  would  gain  the  good  will  of  the  young  Bretonnese,  and  I  was 
astonished  to  see  symptoms  of  impatience  and  annoyance  in  h^  face. 
I  was  decidedly  unfortunate  with  this  young  girl. 

"  I  see,"  said  she,  With  a  singular  ex:pression  of  irony,  "  that  you  love 
that  which  is  beautiful,  which  appeals  to  the  imagination,  to  the  soul; 
nature,  verdure,  stones,  and  the  fine  arts.  You  will  succeed  wonder- 
fully with  Miss  IJelouin,  who  adores  these  things,  which,  for  my  part, 
I  do  not  love." 

"  But  in  heaven's  name,  then,  what  do  you  like.  Miss  ?" 

At  this  question,  which  I  addressed  to  her  in  a  tone  of  amiable 
pleasantry,  she  turned  abruptly  toward  me,  gave  me  a  haughty  glance, 
and  answered  coldly  :  "  I  like  my  dog.     Here!  Mervyn." 

Then  she  plunged  her  hand  aifectionately  into  the  long  hair  of  the 
Newfoundland,  as  he  stretohed  his  formidable  head  between  my  plate 
and  hers  while  standing  on  his  hind  legs. 

I  could  not  but  observe  with  new  interest  the  physioghomy  of  this 
singular  person,  and  seek  for  the  external  signs  of  that  barrenness  of 
soUl  of  which  she  boasted.  Miss  Laroque,  who  seemed  to  be  very  tall 
at  first,  owed  this  appearance  to  the  ample  and  perfectly  harmonious 
character  of  her  beauty.  She  was  in  reality  of  ordinary  size.  Her 
face  of  a  slightly  rounded  oval,  and  her  neck  exquisitely  arched,  and 
proudly  set  upon,  her  shoulders,  are  lightly  tinged  with  a  dull  golden 
color.  Her  black  hair  forms  a  striking  relief  to  her  forehead  and 
throws  wavy,  bluish  reflections  at  each  movement  of  her  .head  ;  the 
nostrils,  delicate  and  thin,  seemed  copied  from  the  divine  model  of  the 
Roman  Madonna,  and  sculptured  in  living  mother  of  pearl.  Beneath 
the  large,  deep,  and  pensive  eyes,  the  tawny  golden  hue  of  the  cheeks 
shades  into  a  browner  circle,  which  looks  like  a  mark  traced  by  the 
shadow  of  the  eyelashes,  Or  as  if  burned  by  the  fiery  radiation  of  her 
glances.  It  is  difficult  to  describe  the  sovereign  sweetness  of  the  smile 
which  comes  occasionally  to  animate,  this  beautiful  faee,4ind  to  temper, 
by  a  gracious  contraction,  the  brilliancy  of  those  large-  eyes.     Truly, 


The  Romanche  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  .     29 

the  goddess  of  poesy,  of  dreams,  and  of  tlie  enchanted  realms,  might 
confidently  present  herself  for  the  worship  of  mortals  under  the  form  of 
this  child,  who  only  loves  her  dog.  Nature,  in  her  choicest  productioiM, 
often  prepares  for  us  these  cruel  mystifications 

Moreover,  to  me  it  matters  little.  ?  feel  that  I  am  destined  to  play 
the  part  of  a  negro  in  Marguerite's  imagination — the  object,  as  every 
one  knows,  of  slight  attraction  for  a  Creole.  On  my  side,  I  flatter  my- 
seff  that  I  am  as  proud  as  she  ;  the  most  impossible  of  all  attachments 
for  me,  would  be  that  which  would  expose  me  to  the  suspicion  of  in- 
trigue and  fortune-hunting.  I  do  not  think,  besides,  that  I  shall  need 
to  arm  myself  with  great  moral  strength  against  an  improbable  danger, 
for  the  beauty  of  Miss  Laroquc  is  of  that  order  which  challenges  the 
pure  contemplation  of  the  artist,  rather  than  a  more  human  and  ten- 
dgrer  sentiment. 

On  hearing  the  name  of  Mervyn,  which  Marguerite  has  given  to  her 
body  guard,  my  left-hand  neighbour,  Helouin,  launched  full  sail  into 
the  time  of  Arthur,  telling  me  that  Mervyn  was  the  authentic  name  of 
the  celebrated  enchanter,  vulgarly  called  Merlin.  From  the  Knights 
of  the  Hound  Table,  she  went  back  to  the  time  of  Cœsar,  and  I  saw 
defile  before  me  in  a  somewhat  tedious  procession  the  whole  hierarchy 
of  druids,  bards  and  ovates,  after  which  we  had  a  fatal  tumble  from 
inenhir  to  dolmen  and  from  galgal  io  cromlech. 

While  I  wandered  in  Celtic  forests,  guarded  by  Mrs.  Ilelouin,  who 
only  needed  ip  be  a  little  fatter  in  order  to  make  an  excellent  druidesF, 
the  exchange  broker's  widow,  who  sat  near  us,  kept  up  an  incessant 
complaining,  "  they  had  forgotten  to  give  her  a  foot-stove  ;  X\.(ty  had 
brought  her  cold  soup  ;  the  meat  which  was  served  her  was  nothing  but 
skin  and  bones;  this  was  the  way  she  was  treated.  But  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  it.  It  was  sad  to  be  poor,  .very  gad.  She  wished  she  was 
dead." 

"  Yes,  doctor,"  she  oontinued,  addressing  her  neighbor,  who  seemcl 
to  listen  to. her  grievances  with  an  aifection  of  interest  mingled  the 
least  in  the  world  with  irony — "yes,  doctor,  it  is  not  a  jest;  I  wish  I 
wer^  dead.  It  would  be  a  great  relief  to  all  the  world.  Think,  doc- 
tor !  When  one  has  been  in  my  position,  when  one  has  eaten  ofi"  silver 
plate,  marked  with  one's  own  crest — to  be  reduced  to  living  on  charity, 
and  to  see  onesself  the  sport  of  servants  !  No  one  knows  what  1  suffer 
in  this  house,  no  one  ever  will  know.  Those  who  have  pride,  suflfer 
without  complaining;  it  is  for  this  reason  that  LhoH  my  peace,  doctor, 
but  I  think  none  the  less." 

"  That  is  right,  my  dear  lady,"  replied  the  doctor,  whom  they  called 
Desnrtirest.^,  I  believe,  "do  not  let  us  talk  of  it  rny  more;  drink  some 
wine,  that  will  calm  you." 

"  Nothing,  nothing  will  calm  me  but  death  !" 

"Ah  well!  madame,  whenever  you  please!"  replied  the  doctor  quietly. 

N"iir  the  centre  of  the  table  the  attention  of  the  guests  was  engross- 
ed I'Y  the  careless,  satirical,  and  vain-glorious  sallies  of  a  personage 
who  II  I  heard  addressed  as  Mr.  de  Bévallan,  and  who  seemed  to  CDJoy 
heri'  the  privileges  of  an  intimate  friend.  He  was  a  large  man,  of  ma- 
ture age,  whose  head  belonged  strictly  to  the  type  of  Francis  First. 


30  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

Tl*&7  listened  to  Iiim  as  to  an  oracle,  and  Mrs.  Laroque  herself  o;rante(l 
him  as  much  interest  and  admiration  as  she  seemed  capable  of  feeling 
for  anything  in  the  world.  For  myself,  as  the  greater  part  of  the  wit- 
ticisms related  to  local  anecdotes  and  occurrences,  I  could  not  fully  ap- 
preciate the  merits  of  this  Armorican  lion. 

I  had,  however,  to  acknowledge  his  politeness  to  me  ;  he  offered  me 
a  cigar  after  dinner,  and  showed  me  into  the  room  appropriated  to 
smoking.  He  did  the  honors,  at  the  same  time,  to  three  or  four  young 
men  just  out  of  their  teens,  who  evidently  regarded  him  as  a  model  of 
good  manners  and  elegant  wickedness. 

"  Eh  !  Bévallan,"  said  one  of  these  young  fellows,  "you  do  not,  then, 
aive  up  the  priestess  of  the  sun  ?" 

"  Never,"  answered  Bévallan  ;  "  I  will  wait  ten  months,  ten  years,  if 
necessary;  but  I  will  have  her  or  nobody  shall."    • 

''  You  are  not  in  the  meantime  unhappy,  old  fellow;  the  goverftess 
will  help  you  to  be  patient." 

*'  Ought  I  to  cut  off  your  tongue  or  your  ears,  Arthur  ?"  replied  Bé- 
vallan in  a  low  voice,  advancing  toward  his  interlocutor,  and  remindiqg 
him  of  my  presence  by  a  quick  gesture 

There  were  then  brought  on  the  carpet,  in  charming  confusion,  all 
the  horses,  all  the  dogs,  all  the  ladies  of  that  part  of  the  country.  It 
is  to  be  wished,  by  the  way,  that  women  could  be  secretly  present  for 
once  in  their  Uvea  at  the  conversations  held  between  men  after  a  good 
dinner  ;  they  would  then  understand  exactly  the  delicacy  of  our  cus- 
toms,,and  the  confidence  we  ought  to  inspire  them  with.  I  do  not 
pride  myself  on  my  prudery,  but  the  talk  to  which  I  was  a  listener  had 
the  serious  fault,  in  my  opinion,  of  exceeding  the  limitg  of  the  loosest 
jesting;  it  hit  at  everything  by  the  way,  outraged  gaiety,  and  finally 
took'a  character  of  universal  profanation.  But  my  education,  doubt- 
less very  incomplete,  has  left  in  my  heart  a  fund  of  respect,  which  it 
seems  to  me  ought  to  be  preserved  in  the  midst  of  the  liveliest  expan-  ' 
sions  of  good  humor..  We  have  our  Young  America  in  France,  how- 
over,  which  is  not  content  if  it  does  tiot  utter  blasphemy  after  dinner; 
we  have  amiable  little  vagabonds — the  hope  of  the  future — who  have 
had  neither  fathers  nor  mothers,  who  have  no  country,  and  no  God, 
but  who  would  seem  to  be  the  brutal  production  of  some  naachine  with- 
out heart  or  soul,  which  has  deposited  them  accidentally  on  this  globe 
to  be  indifferent  ornaments  to  it. 

In  short,  Mr.  de  Bévallan,  who  did  not  fear  to  constitute  himself  the 
cynical  professor  of  these  beardless  roués,  did  not  please  me,  and  I  , 
think  I  pleased  him  as  little.    I  pretended  to  be  fatigued,  and  took  my 
leave.  .  « 

At  my  request,  old  Alain  equipped  himself  with  a  lantern,  and 
guided  me  across  the  park  to  the  building  allotted  to  my  use.  After 
some  minutes'  walking,  we  crossed  a  stream  on  a  wooden  bridge  and 
found  ourselves  before  a  massive  door,  surrounded  by  a  kind  of  belfry 
and  flanked  by  two  turrets.  This  was  formerly  the  entrance  of  the  old  • 
chateau.  Oak  and  fir-trees  formed  a  mysterious  circle  around  this 
feudal  ruin,  which  gave  it  an  air  of  deep  seclusion.  This  was  to  be  my 
habitation  ;  my  three  rooms,  very  suitably  furnished  with  chintz,  es- 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Yoiiflig  Man.  31 

tended  above  the  door  from  one  turret  to  the  other.     This  melancholy 
abode  pleased  me  j  it  suited  my  fortune. 

As  soon  as  I  was  rid  of-  old  Alain,  who  was  in  a  talkative  humor^  I 
seated  myself  to  record  the  doings  of  this  important  day,  stopping  at 
intervals,  to  listen  to  the  soft  murmur  of  the  little  river,  flowing  be- 
neath my  windows,  and  the  cry  of  the  legendary  owl  celebrating  its 
sad  love  in  the  neighboring  woods. 


*  Jii'^i/  1- 

It  ir  time  f<ïr  me  to  try  to  disentangle  the  thread  of  my  own  interior 
existence,  which  has  been  lost  sight  of  during  the  last  two  months,  ow- 
ing to  my  active  engagements.  The  next  morning  after  my  arrival, 
having  spent  some  hours  in  studying  the  books  and  papers  of  Father 
Hivart,  as  they  call  my  predecessor,  I  went  to  breakfast  at  the  chateau, 
where  I  founœonly  a  part  of  the  guests  of  the  previous  evening. 

Mrs.  Laroque,  who  spent  much  of  the  time  in  Paris  before  the 
.health  of  her  father-in-law  condemned  her  to  a  perpetual  coantry  life,^ 
faithfully  preserves  iû  her  retreat  the  taste  for  the  pleasures,  elegant  or 
frivolous,  of  which  the  Rue  du  Bac  was  the  mirror  in  Madame  de  Stael'g 
time.  She  appears,  besides,  to  have  visited  most  of  the  great  cities  of 
Europe,  and  has  brought  back  literary  tastes  far  exceeding  the  common 
extent  of  the  knowledge  and  curiosity  of  Parisian  ladies.  She  takes  a 
number  of  journals,  and  reviews,  and  endeavors  as  much  as  possible,  to 
follow  from  a  distance  the  movements  of  the  refined  civilization  of 
Paris,  of  which  the  theatres,  the  museums,  and  the  new  books,  are  the 
flowers  and  the  fruits,  more  or  less  ephemeral.  During  the  breakfast,  a 
new  opera  was  spoken  of,  and  Mrs.  Laroque  asked  Mr,  de  Bévallan 
some  question  respecting  it,  which- he  was  unable  to  answer,  though  he 
has  always,  if  one  may  believe  him,  a  stall  at  the  Italian  Opera.  Mrs. 
Laroque  then  turned  to  me,  but  showed  by  her  abstracted  air  the  little 
hope  she  had  of  finding  her  man'  of  business  well  informed  on  such 
subjects;  but  these  are,  unfortunately,  precisely  the  only  ones  with 
which  I  am  acquainted.  I  had  heard  the  opera  when  in  Italy  that  was 
then  being  played  in  France  for  the  first  time.  The  reserve  of  my  an- 
swers roused  her  curiosity,  and  she  began  to  press  me  with  Vjuestions, 
and  soon  deigned  to  communicate  her  own  impressions  of  her  travels^ 
her  recollections  and  her  enthusiastic  enjoyment  of  them.  In  short,  it 
was  not  long  before  we  visited  together  in  imagination  the  most  cele- 
brated theatres  and  galleries  of  the  continent,  and  our  conversation  was 
so  animated  that,  as  we  rose  from  the  table,  Mrs.  Laroque  took  ray  arm 
unconsciously  in  order  not  to  interrupt  its  course.  Our  sympathetic 
interchange  of  thought  continued  in  the  saloon,  Mrs.  Laroque  forget- 
ting more  and  more  the  benevolent,  patronizing  tone  which  had,  to  this 
time,  greatly  offended  me. 

She  confessed  that  the*  inability  to  gratify  her  love  for  tlie  theatre 
troubled  her  greatly;  and  that  she  meditated  having  a  comedy  acted  at 
the  chateau.  She  also  asked  my  advice  in  the  arrangement  of  this 
amusement.     I  then  told  her  at  length  of  the  private  stage  arrange- 


32  The  Jlontanee  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

nients  I  had  seen  in  Paris  and .  St.  Petersburg  ;  but,  not  wishing  to 
abuse  my  privileges,  I  rose,  declaring  .that  I  must  at  once  commence 
my  duties  by  the  examination  of  a  large  farm  situated  two  leagues  from 
the  chateau.  At  this  announcement  Mrs.  Laroque  seemed  filled  with 
sudden  consternation  :  she  looked  at  me,  fidgetted  in  her  chair,  hield 
her  hand  over  her  brasero,  and  at  length  said  to  me  in  a  low  voice  : 
"  Ah  !  what  does  that  matter  ?  Let  it  go" — and  when  I  insisted,  "why, 
my  child,"  she  replied,  with  a  pleasant  embarrassment,  "  the  roads  are 
frightful — wait  at  least  till  the  fine  weather  comes." 
.  "  No,  madame,"  said  I,  laughing,  "  I  will  not  wait  one  minute  3  one 
is  either  a  steward,  or  one  is  not."    , 

"  Madame,"  said  old  Alain,  who  chanced  to  be  there,  "  Father.  Hi- 
vart's  wagon  can  be  harnessed  for  Mr.  Odiot;  it  has  no  springs,  but  it 
is  all  the  more  substantial." 

Mrs.  Laroque  cast  a  look  of  thunder  ^t  the  unlucky  Alain,  who  dared 
to  propose  father  Hivart's  wagon  to  a  steward  of  my  so»t,  who  had  at- 
tended theatrical  performances  at  the  palace  of  the  grand-duchess 
Helen. 

"  Will  not  the  carriage  go  in  that  road  ?"  she  asked. 
•  "  The  carriage,  madame  ?     My  goodness,  no.     There  is  no  doubt  it 
would  go,  but  it  would  not  go  whole,"  said  Alain — "  and  yet  I  do  not 
believe  it  would  go  at  all." 

I  protested  that  I  sould  go  perfectly  well  on  foot. 

"  No,  no,  that  is  impossible,  I  do  not  wish  it  !  Let  us  see — we  have 
half  a  dozen  saddle-horses  who  do  nothing — but  probably  you  do  not 
ride  on  horseback?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madame — but  it  is  really  unnecessary,  I  can 
go" 

"  Alain,  have  a  horse  saddled  for  Mr.  Odiot — which  one,  Margue- 
rite ?" 

'•  Give  him  Proserpine,"  muttered  Mr.  de  Bévallan,  laughing  in  his 
sleeve. 

"  No,  no,  not  Proser;^iiie,"  cried  Marguerite,  quickly. 

"  Why  not  Proserpine,  Miss  Marguerite  ?"  I  then  said. 

^'  Because  she  will  throw  you,"  the  young  girl  frankly  answered. 

"  Oh,  indeed  ?  really  ?  pardon  me,  will  you  allow  me  to  ask  if  you 
mount  this  beast?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  I  have  great  difficulty  in  doing  so." 

"  Very  well!  perhaps  you  will  have, less  when  I  have  mounted  her 
myself  once  or  twice.  That  decides  me.  Have  Proserpine  saddled, 
Alain." 

Miss  Marguerite  frowned  and  sat  down,  making  a  gesture  with  her 
hand,  as  if  to  throw  off  all  responsibility  for  the  catastrophe  that  she 
foresaw. 

"If  you  need  spurs,  I  have  a  pair  at  your  service,"  said  de  Béval- 
lan, who  seemed  to  think  T  should  never  return. 

Without  seeming  to  remark  the  reproachful  look  Marguerite  gave 
the  obliging  gentleman,  I  accepted  his  spiars.  Five  minutes  later  the 
noise  of  unruly  feet  announced  Proserpine's  approach  ;  she  was  led 
with  difficulty  to  the  foot  of  one  of  the  flights  of  steps  leading  up  tt 


^#mmL^^#V>;^(,'f"î^îiii^^JÇïw.        % 


uneasy  about  the  end  of  the  adventnrCj  for  if  I  waS I'^ljtfWg'^Vf'ti^lM,^ 
'4kÉ'itti  ém^tj^'^mh  'mmW^kâifm^  k^^^^  Wmv^h^^  me 

''fib 'f)*ti«!^'to'{î'êi«îet«illdihî?f'e^(lsÉ'l  i^%"faî'^'^ttJ^Wi'^^îi^'%(fië^è\J^lodA^Ilc 
■*Sd(éV^h  aTt^îedrtii^^iïOéaflioiif'îkhîSWti'îit  tviMi 

me  in  vaulting.  .inoai  l/iioffto  ^ni  "io 

-^t  hief'Scfcestfin'itHoiitJthèiileap.t.pî^n  i^fiiftoiy^  jbatv«|<fiina)J;oofi'ër  feltiniy 
•^ifaotiipTCasoîîiithc  ?iJrttïbîoi!tban:ifliciqpRu^l»sidi»7atdotfla»»ex.tlip«efoi;'ftuJr 
,{BU]^Kl'bi(flingïî/QVPr(itbeilJirgonTia?jïb7<^  vadektJwhé^iiWn'MidBtcdlthjystepB; 
[fhenialie  cucbod  ilicï»sëll  -ibla•I)!i^^^Ilf\)?iafp•vQbw/ïTnaîi  tfce)xiif  nniilihbh«jç  cftite 
ajfeots  after 'whiobi abc,  sdéodiquietf,  tfeflïifjlift^jali^/îoftwijll  To  yiiiniixii  orlJ 
-ii.in«(<  Ni)i  oasjf  ioimi)unfc,''^-fMd  ^be  T3ç<M>1th{ièiDkinûriîi3s!;j«yeJsdij  T.,om  oî 

l'j    cAit i^h© dime [mocientiŒ') leaped)  intoo^ï4  ?adti!â<»/i{iioutf*»u(ilv«(ng5ho 
'  jtBtiirwj), Land'iwki^eiPrc3Baét-pio«-reflw'ît<^lTlipoY>iwhi!!t(iiad  hdtpferieiJnoriiiarr, 
Mrhad'takaiL'  alfiiimisGativHÎrhjG^instoBntB'jïftaB  ^eeffri's^ajipffflwdlijitfA.i^paJl^p 
/Itjfoknitlw;.  laveimëijotj  èfedétiintçitfci^JiiTfadiifjffy  ft!?W)umd»ioficièlaf{*iirigj{Nf 
3»iiaiwi3vfor.vrliick(fl)erJîoi';tillaH£jL»di'li8d  ttealkiifiiwWjtaimve.theLftiign*]. 
^?.b:J!B^lïs''inpiderftv'^^Mgnifi«JJib^  i4i/teifl4;>d3dIq;i'Jt  dail/aftjilT pèaofiitwd  iHàt 
•evening,  to  establish  my  reputation  in  theiira»pibinlKiaoâk»verifI'jathcï9ac-_ 
oompli!^hments  of  equal  wojJ^.^ts^j^HBomsr'^HA^ifr  «h^'^oWli#à7■^«'iI^-- 
'fional  dignity.     It  can  be  s^en,  moreover,  that  I  do  not  int|^flftjj^i;PTPî!^' 
the  kindness  and   respect  of  which   T  ï^f»y  t)''"<^''i^o^S^Arfj''li  W"^"^"^^ 
usurp  in  the  ch,it^-^,u  a„pgpyçg^,lij^t}fi  i«iom^i^,!W';*£^^fifn'''>>.-C'^^^« 

.    ^0  that  no  one  will  everT^e  tempt^rl  to  V^\m,ifmu\r  s'^V^i  Jo  L-:ow 
Several  days  aftei"  mv,  arrival,  I  ws.^  R"Ç'^T*i  'f  '^"'^  of  tno^errcrcrco- 
,riipiis  dinners  which,  at  tnis  èea?oi{,  T*k^  pl^  •»  ^/mqst  every  a:<y.     I)\> 

[\tm  r)fhGAW'h\h^-^<p^%l^<:Hrm'  jf^mm.  ^%^47f^si  vvte'fe(%'P.d 

H'^brië'm'b^\h>t'A'A'(M  'f'i;%<yif''Wnt^'î*^wâ^n^Hr  "h'éftf  aHr^l^c»  I 
•^Hfètlltî'éi-'nÙ/'T-'fi'erfHl  feVei-y(^4'oT"H^'Ki]«ff:r'¥''f'^  "'^^  ''■"''"  '^{f 
''  My  God — do  not  npeak  of  it  !  ,  Tbf ro  is  some   incpnc(;ivïï13!t*"À^p- 
tery  there— we  think  he  i?  som^  (^iyp^W-^ff/M^c^-Uil  AWtWMÛ  hie 

'■hf&^ch(À(km   ^^•     :      '      '  '  •'  •  '      -Mr  !'''%v:q.a^'evt'v^'^,Jcon-.- 

^  toimenf-i^he  ri-  ^   [(rW'SHH;^^  ^>^  '■''tnHi^aii. 

"'B'ettrcen  mii^cli-e^,  iny  liciw  •dndt'r.iin*l'»'rYT''{ï|^Ç'*^''  '  tvSc* 

.     l^i^e^ak,  J^nt  à^  yçj»f  ÂîH^eëAbi»^'ttfli  "  "'  ' ■' ;i "^:f'  •'''•'        '  '  c 

3 


34  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Bîan. 

The  under-preffect,  wlio  is  also  a  very  agreeable  man,  or  who  thinks 
he  is  one,  which  is  quite  as  satisfactory  to  himself,  replied  gracefully, 
that  there  were  beautiful  eyes  enough  in  the  chateau  to  explain  many 
mysteries;  that,  besides,  Love  was  the  legitimate  father  of  Folly,  and 
the  natural  steward  of  the  Graces—then  suddenly  changing  his  tone  : 
"  however,  madam'e,"  he  added,  *'  if  you  have  the  least  uneasiness  re- 
specting him,  I  will  have  him  interrogated  to-morrow  by  the  brigadier 
of  the  gendarmerie  " 

Mrs.  Laroque  protested  against  this  excess  of  polite  zeal,  and  the 
conversation  regarding  me  proceeded  no  further;  but  it  pi  jucd  me 
greatly,  not  against  the  under-prefect;  who  on  the  contrary  pleased  me 
infinitely,  but  against  Mrs.  Laroque,  who,  in  rendering  more  than  ju%^ 
ticc  to  my  private  qualities,  was  not  sufiSciently  penetrated  with  a  sense 
of  my  official  merit. 

It  chanced  that  on  the  next  day  I  had  to  renew  the  lease  of  a  large 
farm.  The  tenant  was  a  cunning  old  peasant,  but  I  succeeded  in  daz- 
zling him  by  some  terms  of  jurisprudence  adroitly  mingled  with  tha» 
reserve  of  a  skillful  diplomatist.  When  our  agreement  was  concluded, 
the  good  man  placed  in  my  desk  three  rolls  of  gold  pieces.  Though 
the  meaning  of  this  payment,  which  was  not  due,  did  not  at  once  occur 
to  me,  I  abstained  from  exhibiting  any  surprise;  but  I  found  by  indi- 
rect questions  that  this  sum  constituted  the  earnest-money,  customary 
on  each  renewal  of  the  leases  ;  or  in  other  words  the  glaf^s  of 
wine  which  the  farmers  give  the  owners  of  the  vineyards.  I  had  not 
thougM  of  claiming  this  earnest-money,  having  found  no  mention  of 
it  in  the  former  leases,  drawn  up  by  niy  skillful  predecessor,  and  which 
served  me  as  models.  I  drew  no  conclusion  from  this  circumstance,  at 
the  moment,  but  when  I  placed  this  pledge  in  Mrs.  Laroque's  hands, 
her  surprise  astonished  me. 

"  What  does  this  mean  V  she  asked  me. 

I  explained  the  nature  of  the  gratuity.  She  made  me  repeat  my 
explanation. 

"  Is.it  the  custom  ?" 

"  Yes,  madame,  whenever  a»  new  lease  is  granted."  ■ 

"But  there  have  been  during  thirty  years  more  than  ten  leases 
renewed  to  my  knowledge — what  is  the  reason  we  have  never  heard  a 
jirord  of  these  things  before  ?"  ,  ' 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  tell  you,  madame." 

Mrs.  Laroque  fell  into  an  abyss  of  reflection,  at  the  bottom  of  which 
she  met,  perhaps,  the  venerable  shade  of  Father  Hvvart,  after  which 
she  shrugged  her  shoulders,  slîghtly  looked  at  me,  then  at  thc^gold 
pieces,  Uien  again  at  me,  and  seemed  to  hesitate.  Then  she  leaned 
back  in  ner  arm  chair,,  and  sighing  deeply,  said  to  me  with  great  sim- 
plicity—  * 

"  Very  well,  sir;  I  thank  you."  *    ' 

This  act  of  palpable  honesty,  which  she  had  the  good  taste  not  to 
compliment  me  for,  had  the  effect  of  impressing  Mrs.  Laroque  with  a 
great  idea  of  her  steward's  ability  and  virtue.  I  discovered  that  some 
days  afterwards.     Her  daughter  was  reading  to  ^er  a  history  of  a  voy- 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  35 

;\g3  CO  tlie  North  Pole,  in  which  there  was  an  account  of  an  extraordi- 
nary bird,  which  did  not  fly  aWay. 

•  Hold,"  said  she,  "  that  is  like  my  steward." 

I  firmly  hope  that  I  have  since  acquired,  by  the  strict  attention  with 
which  I  have  devoted  myself  to  the  task  I  have  undertaken,  some  right 
to  less  negative  praise. 

"When  I  went  to  Paris  recently  to  visit  my  sister,  Mr.  Laut)epin 
thanked  me  with  great  warmth  for  the  lienor  I  had  done  his  recom- 
jnendation  of  me. 

"  Courage,  JIaximilian,"  said  he  to  me;  ''we  will  havo  a  dowry  f«r 
Helen.  The  poor  child  will  not  be,  so  to  say,  talk  for  nothing.  M\à 
as  to  your-self,  my  friend,  cherish  no  regret,  lîelieve  me,  that  which 
most  resembles  happiness  in  this  world,  you  have  within  you  ;  and 
thank  Heaven,  I  see  you  will'  always  have  it;  in  that  peace  of  con- 
«:cience  anK;l  healthy  serenity  of  soul  which  follow  devotion  to  duty." 

The  eld  man  is  doubtless  right.  I  am  tranquil,  but  I  am  hardlv 
happy.  There  are  in  my  soul,  which  is  not  yet  mature  enough  for  the 
austere  enjoyment  of  sacrifice,  alternate  transports  of  gaily  and  des- 
pair. My  life  is  unreservedly  dedicated  to  another,  feebler  and  dearer, 
and  belongs  to  me  no  longer  ;  it  has  no  future,  It  is  shut  tip  in  a  clois- 
ter forever.  My  heart  must  beat,  my  head  must  think  for^nothef 
oiily.  Let  Helen' be  happy  !  Age  draws  near  already  for  nic  !  May 
it  '•ome  quickly — its  iciness  will  sustt^n  my  courage. 

I  ought  not  to  complain,  besides,  of  a  situation  which  has  beguiled 
iKv  most  painful  apprehensions,  and  exceeded^y  best  hopes.  My  du- 
ties, my  frequent  journeys  into  the  neighboring  departments,  my  taste 
for  solitude,  keep  me  often  away  from  the  chateau.  I  alwnys  avoid  the 
'.loisy  parties  there,  and  perhaps  it  is  in  good  part  to  the  rarity  of  my 
presence  that  I  owe  the  friendly  vyelcome  I  always  find.  Mrs.  Laroque, 
in  particular,  exhibits  a  real  iitta«hment  to  me;  she  maki.'S  ure  the  con- 
fidant of  her  strange,  but  very  sincere  mania,  ibr  poverty,  for  devotion, 
and  poetic  abnegation,  which  form  an  amusing  , contrast  with  her  many 
precautions  against  her  C'reole  chilliness.  Sometimes  she  envies  the 
gipsi(^  burdened  with  children,  who  drag  a  miserable  cart  along  the 
roads,  and  cjDok  their  dinner  under  the  shelter  of  the  hedges  ;  some- 
times jt  is  the  sisters  of  charity,  sometimes  it  is  the  camp  women,  whose 
heroic  labors  she  is  ambitious  of  emulating.  Then  she  will  reproach 
tho  late  Mr.  Laroque  with  his  excellent  health,  which  never  permitted 
his  wife  to  display  her  abilifies  as  a  sick  nurse.  And  for  several  days 
she  has  wished  to  have  added  to  her  arna-chair  a  kind  of  niche,  in  the 
form  of  a  turret,  to  shelter  her  from  draughts  of  air,  and  I  found  her 
installed,  the  other  morhing,  in  this  kiosk,  where  she  sweetly  awaited 
martyrdom. 

I  have  hardly  less  to  praise  in  the  other  inhabitants  of  the  chateau. 
Miss  Marguerite,  îilways  plunged  in  some  unknown  revery,  like  a  Nu- 
bian sphinx,  condescends,  hovCever,  witt  obliging  readiness,  to  sing  my. 
favorite  airs.  Her  voice  is  an  admirable  contralto,  and  which  she  uses 
with  the  most  consummate  art,  but  at  the  same  time  with  a  cold- 
ness and  iudiffcrence  which  must  bo  intentional.  It  soniotûncs  hap- 
j'wva  thst  an  cxprçi?sion  of  warmth  and  "passion  escapes  her  lips,  but 


36  2v^e  Romance  of.  a  Poor  J-  otin^  JSzaC 

she  seecis  hTiTQihatod  and  asi^ained  ''f  J^9f.S-.?p5gfif^v^^f§;î>Çn^r;^ft 


"i  have  iDst;     AU  grç^fi0,^5^,,,E^,^,Vif?^"^|À:};|K,P^^ 


«:4dst  9i^^^^î,WQl' 


iW^-^'oi^  ifiiii^f^io^}  "^ïor-îili.fa  i^oî^a.  "iï^^"  "îs^j^M^^iî^'-V:*^ 

•pass 

.'.cÏÏa- 
—  ''"^nioB  round,  vfhere  sht   i-s  oot  kqg";^  ana  venerated  as 


fear.  Or  love,'  whicK  vexes'  fjîis  n(?bïe1i'(3art.     ttowevV'^isiatereslea  .one 

may  be.  m  tlîo^Kîasei-  rit,|i|,jjmço|sipId-  npl  ^fo ^Jcfi^ï  a  coy^tutn  curiosity,  re- 

spectî^^:6qi;çn)pry\e;r^,;p^ 

am  a  fiivorite,  sefvecl  njv  solifarv.rçpapt. .  ,,. 

"  Wcl],  Alain,"  sai(i'ïr'^'iTiy-"ftk^  .bèm'<y<îàïikïftir=aay/'7^ 
beén  out  WâÙ^'?''^^"^''^^  i'iij>.;;oi[f  h\nhnml  *  iî  n  '/.•;;;!  no'{  jj;iî.t  '{li'I'V 

"  Ycs,  sir,  thia  morning  with  my  lady."       "TniiifA  ,03  y.'!»/  brrA  *^i 

••  Ah,,^uile^(lf,lvfb  17  ffjiv/  L!;?:f{  aifi  s!i:î.:f;ofr\ni.nIA  fàiîa  ' ^-çiiBood  "^ 

"  Did  you  sec  us  pass  ?" 

"  It  is  possible,  Alain.     Yes.  ï  see  you  pass  sometimes.     You^it 
your  horse  well,  Alain."  — ~ 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir'.     Miss  Marguerite  sits  a  horse  much  better 
than  J?:^;. '.A, 

.v;'^6^lejg^;,v^r3rvl^f?f^ifVlWoWS!r^^V^IfJ«.'v;•«  OiU'jo  oViit--)  'Jik  nï 
-  "  OWt  ■pe.pfcreitipsir,'àrnK.l,  àaigîdogl  asiliearut'ift<ll;  îa5d;69f,ia'.>ndBditm(Ji,i'hèr.i 
molltert;  il  wiJl  t-éllly©ttâome!tliiiiigi.;!i(<jr'(}4  ^now  tbJttj^lml^ropeEty^bbi 
k)n£;ed;,fii)!rmorly  t&ihoMM  QoimtlufjiCbp^snafc,  vt:MBirX.^h!ii;«l'tl^â  J^orii^ 
to  serf-e.  "^'hen  the  Laroquc  family  Iwught  the  chateau,  I-^bnowrJ 
l.edgO; ,tl]jf t  ^j,,Jipfu-t-^v«is/(u|l,-,a||u^;jI[4i«%e4otfV,  r,«fiHiin,f^}),itl:[g  Tiin^Hy- 
I  .Vad  been,  taught  to  haye  a,  .gJiej^t|  i-çfipuGti  jfor  i]i^ ,  (rjobilj,ty^ .  anc^  ,i^  .qçf^t 
Dfie^a,  .grcal;,,flcft^:ito,  s^rjire,,pepBlq/-,\V7.,ilio^f,.bfir^ii.p  p[Y;Ou,,to^  îi?:TQ>  ï^ 
matkeid,, sijp,  :tih^t,it  gnvcsi ,ii)e,ipiir|^i;ia^.:, pj(ç^sure;tp  'lip ^Jj^ui  aiiyt  sûrvice,- 
^ndip ■je  bccaupje  ..h^,,^a^-,,t^(^if  j^£;';^jgej]^|oxi^%,;  jAr,Çi:ypiJt xcfy,  anvs. 
jpu  d,o,nut,.bel,vfg  to  tb,ç.ftob^itj!.n,,,;t  ,f,^,ii  ,[')i.[w  -lo  ,di\v  ^vmho  oiicp. 
;  ''fIfeariSOvaayfipOor  iAihiixJ'c-j  ;)i[)  n')':.v/t^tf  7t('[::Itfni8  r  o-iorf  noaoh^ivn 
^  Ncv<;rtheiiâsâ,iatiè:itTig.'thrè<'I  îïfâ^^vngiU)  à&y;  sh'i,':'v.'i»épKed  A'Uin^ 
with -a  graceful  iborvrî^^ï.Bavé-'l^iiniêdf'iis^hilôf  îff'th'e'  sôïviee  of  tHe»»; 
ladies,  that  thp  nobility  of' 1  feeiîîti j^  ifc  'Wôr4;h:ffitidh;itiDfo  than  ïthe?  othfet^' 
and  iniprtioular  t^aT>  'tl\at''of''  Oount'  'iqiJSiCasterih^îi,  who  used  to/beat 
hisiserVants.  i.U'Sfe ■a''^jiij,;;8iD/>th«lt  Mftrjn^cilitd-icottld.iîot'iniirr.yiia'^h- 
tl^an.t.'ith'a  fine  îiaiâfe  l'^héPé  ■rtWuJdihtinibè'ribtîii.iig'aibpéi'Waritiftç; 
tO'/her^eTfeOBoh.'!-!!;    /nt'jJfpo-j    i[-I:;)V:,'l    oih   .Ijji.-;::.)  ']■■.  /ti'ii;/;/  -.u;; 

■-'«•toiti  è^ëhi^  t6^'tiië='ii^%în,'''éiat  îi-ffé^encF»-''ôii'^ho?(!Âic'bfu£'EW-i*' 


^  ^'  If  yoil  spcat'  çf  Wi;.  de'a3étallâW,'\ié  deji^'ys-'Vliy  o^'^^h^^^ 
ntsked'Tiér-TiàiM'^ tf>Wé'  thati'  ât!i;- jgS.iikthfe' ag6.'''  'Madktnè'.dîa'iièt'oljpb^è^* 
if;    abdi  'W''  Âdtl'-hé'  Is -eie'^tjchWi'  >ih''  ithd''  bbiùtfry,'   a;ÇtÊr'  Ihè' 
Lki-oijttësV'but  èhc-M^Ôtiia'  liM  ^îWà  âfecidéd  'àWsWef/Mt  1tishe!d.# 
takeïhrl^  fWVëfléëlfibhr"''-'''-''l"^'^"  '^^nî?^  ?.?.;f(!îtir;'.)  «  ihm  ,-(;3ni!tli/ui:'. 

wilèi)'  i.shù^'it.  whViBïSlit:'  .ad  and  à))beai-mind'cd.  à'S 

i;ji   ,  ,ii'."7ii(    f'i  tl.        ■         .■:■  ■  .     ■  iiJ,j:.     i;  ,•);;•.:,        ^       " 

Otle  lîc  .       -         ,  f     ■.     •     '  ,  '»  r     •  r. 


. ^P^,^ 


38  The  Romance,  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

"  That  does  not  prevent  him  from  beinj;  a  bad  fellow,  'who  spend? 
his  time  in  debauching  the  country  girls.  And  if  you  have  the  use  of 
your  eyes,  you  can  see  that  he  does  not  restrain  himself  from  plaving 
the  Sultan  in  the  chateau;  while  waiting  for  something  better." 

There, was  a  pause,  after  which  Alain  resumed  : 

"  Pity  that  you  have  not  a  hundred  thousand  francs  income." 

"  And  why  so,  Alain  ?" 

"  Because,"  said  Alain,  nodding  his  head  with  a  dreamy  air. 


In  the  course  of  the  month,  which  is  nearly  passed  away,  I  have 
gained  one  friend,  and  I  have;  made,  I  think,  two  enemies.  The  ene- 
mies are  Marguerite  an.d  Heli^uin;  tjie  friend  is  an  unmarried 
lady  of  eighty-eight.  I  am  afraid  one  does  not  compensate  for 
the  other. 

Miss  Helouin,  with  whom  I  will  first  settle  my  account,  is  an  nn- 
gratefui  person.  The  fault  that  she  pretends  I  have  been  guilty  of  Co- 
ward her,  .ought  rather  to  h.ave  raised  me  in  her  estimation  ;  bet  she 
appears  to  be  one  of  those  women,  common  enough  to  the  v.'orld,  who 
do  not  rank  esteem  among  the  number  of  sentiments  they  M'ish  to  in- 
spire others  with,  or  which  they  feel  toward  others.  From  my  earliest 
residence  here  a  similarity  between  the  condition  of  the  governess  and 
that  of  the  steward,  and  the  equality  of  our  pssitions  in  the  chateau, 
made  me  assume  toward  her,  the  relation  of  affectionate  kindness.  I 
had  prided  myself,  at  all  times,  on  manifesting  to  these  poor  girJs,  the 
kindly  interest  which  their  ungrateful  task,  their  precarious  and  hu- 
miliating situation,  seemed  to  me  to  demand  for  them.  Helouin  is 
pretty,  intelligent,  full  of  talent,  and  though  she  spoils  all  a  little  by 
the  vivacity  of  conduct,  the  feverish  coquetry,  *and  light  pedantry', 
which  are  the  frequent  results  of  her  occupations,  I  had  very  little 
îuerit  in  playing  the  chivalrous  part  that  I  have  ascribed  to  myself. 
This  character  took,  the  form  of  duty,  in  my  eyes,  when  I  discovered 
that  a  devouring  lion,  wearing  the  featxfres  of  Francis  First,  is  roaming 
secretly  about  iny  young  protégée.  This  knavery,  which  does  honor  to 
Mr.  de  Bévallan's  audacity,  is  carried  on  under  the  color  of  amiable 
familiarit}',  with  a  craftiness  which  easily  deceives  inattentive  or  ingen- 
uous eyes.  Mrs.  Laroque,  and  her  daughter  in  particular,  are  too  igno- 
rant of  the  perversities  of  this  world,  and  live  too  far  from  all  reality^, 
to  experience  a  shadow  of  suspicion.  As  to  myselî*,  irritated  as  I  am 
against  this  devourer  of  hearts,  I  find  a  pleasure  in  thwarting  his  de- 
signs ;  I  have  more  than  once  diverted  the  attention  he  endeavored  to 
engross;  I  have  striven  above  all  to  lessen  in  Miss  Helouin's  heart  that 
bitter  feeling  of  abandonment  and  isolation  which  in  general  gives  so 
much  value  to  that  sort  of  consolation  which  was  oifered  to  her.  Have 
I  ever  exceeded  in  this  ill-advised  struggle  the  delicate  limits  of  fra- 
ternal protectron  ?     I  believe  hot;  and  the  words  of  th^  short  dialogue- 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Yonng  Man.  .  39 

■wbicli  has  suddenly  changed  the  nature  of  our  relations,  sçëm  to  speak 
in  favor  of  my'  prudence. 

One  night  last  week  we  went  out'  upon  the  terrace  to  breathe  the 
fresh  air.  Ilelouin,  to  whom  I  had  had  occasion  during  the  day 
to  show  some  particular  attention,  leaned  lightly  upon  my  arm,  and 
while  biting  an  orange-flower  with  her  sm^ill,  white  teeth,  said  in  an 
unsteady  voice  : 

"  You  are  kind,  Mr.  Maximilian." 

"  I  try  to  be  so,  Miss."  ,        ' 

"  You  are  a  true  friend."  ' 

*'  Yes.". 

"  But  a  friend— how  ?" 

"  A  true  one,  as  you  said." 

"  A  friend — who  loves  me  ?" 

"  Without  doubt." 

"Much?" 

"  Assuredly." 

•*  Passionately  ?"  , 

"No" 

Upon  hearing  this  monosyllable,  which  I  articulated  very  clearly  and 
strengthened  by  a  firm  look,  Helouin  threw  the  orange-flower  quickly 
away  and  dropped  my  arm.  Since  that  unlucky  hour,  I  have  been 
treated  with  a  disdain  that  I  have  not  shrunk  from,  and  I  should  deci- 
dedly believe  the  friendship  of  one  sex  for  the  other  to  be  an  illusion, 
if  my  misadventure   had   not  had   a  sort  of   counterpoise  the  next 

I  had  gone  to  pass  the  evening,  at  the  chateau  ;  two  or  three  families 
who  had  spent  a  tWrtnight  there,  had  left  in  the  morning,  and  I  found 
only  the  habitual  visitors — the  curé,  the  collector,  the  Doctor  Desma- 
rests,  and,  finally,  the  General  de  Saint-Cast  and  his  wife,  who,  as  well 
as  the  doctor,  live  inthe  neighboring  town.  Mrs.  de  Saint-Cast,  who 
seems  to  have  brought  her  husband  a  fine  fortune,  was  engaged  when  I 
^ntered,  in  an  animated  conversation  with  Mrs.  Aubry.  These  two 
dames  understood  one  another  perfectly;  they  celebrate  by  turns,  like 
two  shepherds  in  an  eclogue,  the  incomparable  charms  of  riches,  in  a 
style  wh«re  difierence  of  form  contends  with  elevation  of  thought. 

"  You  are  right,  madame,"  said  Mrs.  Aubry;  "  there  is  but  one  thing  in 
the  world — it  is  to  be  rich.  "When  I  was  rich.  1  despised  with  all- my 
heart,  those  who  were  not  ;  I  find  it  very  natural  now,  that  I  should  be 
despised,  and  1  do  not  complain  of  it." 

"  No  one  despises  you  for  being  poor,  madame,"  replied  Mrs.  de 
Saint-Cast;  "very  certainly  not,  madame;  but  it  is  certain  that  to  be 
rich  or  to  be  poor,  makes  a  wonderful  difl"erence.  There  is  the  gene- 
ral, who  knows  something  of  it — he  who  had  absolutely  nothing  when 
I  married  him — but  his  sfrord — and  it  is  not  a  sword  which  will  buttfer 
soup  ;  is  it,  madame  ?" 

"  No,  no  !  Oh,  no,"  cried  Mrs.  Aubry,  applauding  this  bold 
metaphor.  "Honor  and  glory  are  vcrv  fine  things  in  romances;  but  I. 
think  a  good  carriage  is  much  better;  is  it  not  so,  madame?" 


rai  m  coming  Here;  is  it  not,  general  r  ....-,„..!,•., ,,',,r,  'h.  .,,-r.,.'+  „; 


"It  is^none  the  less  true,  that  if,  it  •v^ere  not  for  ine,^yo^'Wô'uM''^ô'6W 
foot,  my  general,  and  that  would  notVë*fe&'--Ë'mf  w«h  ^f6^^¥bnM8:  "It 
ie  not  with  a  pension  of  six  Qr  seven  thousand^'-^frtfii^è^  tha^'y'ôtï  could 
ride  in  a  carriage,  my  friend.  I  said  tha{  to*'fe?tt^tMâ'nï(>rifi,iig',^4Qad- 
ame,  in  talking  of  our  new  carriage,  which  is,  as  easy,  as  ,easy''''^a«^t)e. 
However,  I  paid  a  high  price  for  it;  it  mâdè''%f^gDrôd'fcîtîr^tfe^ïsand 
francs  less  in  fny  purse  !"  ^,^1'  -^J^^^?-  ^-'0'{  s^-  .'-^'fo  s^'/ii  A  " 

"  I  believe  it,  madame  !     My  visiting  •câïrTàgfe'^^'léèfslF-ine "a ^rjl^  five* 
thousand  francs,  counting  the  tiger's  skin  for  the  fèe?tj''^mçH'J|l'6^/ cost 
five  hundred  francs."  "  •  __       '.  n-;{/i<.  " 

"  As  to  me,"  replied  Mrs.  de  Saint-Cast,  "  I  have  .l^eeri'.y^^fj'djtecl'  to 
economize  a  little,  for  I  have  furnished  my  saloon,  and'$*Hfe¥è^hdught 
-  '-^^ ^'       •  ■■'    "' ÏH/v^ 


¥W'n\ë',^  \^M^Wyfkl^'îoiWét  heiti^niàré  lîonl)réd«rK)w',^îri'tîiiriMn|'' 
that  if  I  were  still  what  I  have  been,   I  should  see  at  my  feet  all-'ihB 


'€M^frt^^^fj-'ïor,'4lie^a^il  tftTi!'^'mte,'?>Wèàh'^èar  tiàiaàe'^idPîin'^'''^  ''■ 
'  f^Âft'a-^^'¥Hfe,^'tÏÏe-,Wâ^' dMo*  kMi^\^  'ëdo^û^-'^Wyih*'nS;f  W^- 
eâ^e-'Witlff  hiBÏ,'i#^%eâhfâ  i^B'ae/MJ^îSë^^''a'¥êal'^ 

l^iàrtî^6^^reèfee^#i^%tîfélfata(tf  ^iJd''dis^Usty';'  ^^^  bo':.1«ybnf;  poin^r. 
-  ^'Alt|iM§lil'ï)déïd#f'©rfàfi«ê^''^Mé  %âfab'Héhéa'^' îtf  t^é^^Bèils^'ôh-tliè 
footin^ii.^ife  ^iift'irë'âÔ^B^ii(?îië'a'01^,'>  to^'-^hbiÀ  •  V?âg  àîî^èd'  tlie' 'gi-eirt- 
e6i^ibttepemdeéeèo(rf/îJà|)$0cKj//th«I4|)Ostr'opfeef:twaâ  too  '  shia,î-^'  aibt  to 
çatièèT  tâfe  «f^cta|QïîP  al  feèiïng'of'  dneasîi/éss,  ?j(rliich.i'  wkâ ;iû'anifésted  'M^ 
%k  feiabdrrisÈedi  giiencbiî.!/Mrg{îIïa?èc[Mfft  âkillfuily; 'broke.'  it;:>by;aàkâfi|; 
her  daughter  if  it  was  eight  o'cl6<ikjo  nJRÎqnfoo  ioa  o.o  I  f.Mu^  .T-o^'tqs^D 
>?>  '.^-ÎÎ0,  f«ïô^b*i'/,3ffl«5:^e^  .-Maygy^ité,  ■/6ïoi<u^Ii^,fdeo[P<î«hi)e(t''&mot 

^i^Ç  tj^4- fi/jjJT':')')  '.;i  il   ::;;(  ;  oiiiBÎuTa  ,ii)u  vInl/.:Vi->'>  vio"/ •••  ;  j>:!v'.)-j(!îg8 
.Hi^Tli^jtei^ii^^aftèr,  ^^W;eli<l>cUf.llfg&0r,^  àryÈei»:tiiCidpprc«ipe|iQd,j^^^ 
JlîO^iyfldSi^ft  51^ifei(fttf^a6}iidearfiiig.4iijfcltor;,ï)^30«>i^^^ 

■*Jhte.'«<)ciî$yAïî^Met{)Maw»iiÇ£ïbpr€iei^itei: — f.-ro/??  -id  jjjj niul  lyAnmi  I 

Miss  Porhoet,  who  had  this  year  seen  her  eiglfty^ti^felfe  ^|>i^g/5ftO<i 
i^bp  h^ji|th,e,^ppg{^-,ance-pjÇfâ/long,y/Be^,,jp;|-eserv^^^  iQ)i^ilk>  .w?s  )t^e .last 

fabulous  ktngg,.ç^,,gn"çle^„4f  ijii(5ri<^V,  ,âca:jLj6'Hsîj^;,Iwwfryj3TA,#i^  tous^ 


Hmm'4A^'^^Mm'^m      .  tt. 


Jç^&s.not, appeaiv^n  hitiory  till,  tha  twelfth  cppt^rj.  in. the  perso.O;pC 
tTutlià.el Json  of .  Cor^n' 'le ,1^91't, ' «esçcni^iéd'  from' ^ tli^  ' yoiiiiget^ branch'  of 
fhfi' royal  family  "of  ÏJi'ittany.  .So'uie.  drops  oi'.'tlVe  "tlood'of  the' Por-^ 
hoew,  hayc  UQ\yçd  liQ  ujp  vouis  01,  tlie  niost  illrUStrious  nii>ii  ot- Ijjanoe^j^ 
t).e|îif»h;ih,  "Do  Lusjgnahjànel  Pe  ronlhieyre  j'  ît.nxl  these  |qob1çmoii',c^ii- 


iVliiss  dSfPorhoet,  wliolû-day  remaiitf  ihe  last  ^i  her  nàniCj.h;ig  never 
wished  to  marry,  in  order  to  preserve,  as  long  as  possible,  in  the  hvwii 

■  come  one  «hancea  to  speak  (beiore  ner)  one  day  of  the  orij^m  of 
the  Bourbons-  "  The  Bojirbons,".  said  she.rPluflsi'iiï  her  kHittînarnee- 
ale  several  tunes  into  her  blond  wi^,  ''^the  hpuroon^  are  oi,guod>n.Q- 


bilitv,  but,"  (putting  on   suddenly ,  àh   air  , of  modestv,)  ".ther^'jare 

better  "  -  '  ' 

^.;f^ls 

who  Dears      _        ,____    ___    -  .p,,f=v.:  ,!-.      ç  11        ,,.,-.., ^    ;,-).-■,(<  -i 

jjiftih,  of  aiire,  and  pf  misfortune.,,  À  dépTorabrc  ^aw-suît  that  sh'p  oB- 
stlîrii^telf  eata'^oii';^  dUt^bfi '^F^ahée; 'ilia's 'Mkjly  ^^dticcd  her  sn'iall 
f6tïiHièY'thëi*e^an''hara!yT'ènija4'ri'.tdJ^^^  kàfiih.  mbû^éof  a,  thoysàt}! 
fràiièy  kyedirl  ^-'Tlife''lrb%d  'iiâà^^'ûdt  l^s^dtfed  ''Hyf%Pd4'6ï"mèreàsëè 
her  temper;  she  is  merry,  e^htiMy;  iioùVt(i6'àë'^''&Tïe'lWé^V^f^'t^^^^  kii'O^a' 
îl*&^i,{h•'âillittlë'  h«\iae,'''wlth  'ft  fettle  éWfànfc;  *^nd ■' yèt f Shè"find4 mtfeiT^^  to 
fe*f8të;fr''té:grèatU(^lh'cHat'ity.'^y^  iitt'd'''bërfdâù^hltêi'-hftV.^    ■ 

formed  an  attachment  for  their  poor  and  nobl(?  tt'ei'^bfibiei*  wlijeh'd<)'e& 
thefrahoiiDr.;!  sii«i3B,-iwh«n  Visitinig'iitheHij'thiB^grgind  objeet'of  reéjject 
hod  attention,  ^^«fefODnlbljrids  Mrsi  AtHry.  'I.  halve  oÉen' scon' Miss 
Marguerite  quit  a  lively  dance  to  go  to  make  the  fonrth  at  JN4îé3"de 
PDrliûetfs'VvhisHab'léUTifîthe  Utteuis  game  of  •{WÙ3fc'*(i)t  five 'oèa^thes 
the  counter)  wasrikiofeiogioiwsifaglet'day^'Mhei  world  rwoiild  endi-  Içanr 
«n^elf  ojf>qiaf|jt}w-,fJ^f-errt$ft.partfï$f^.Qf  :this5i^d}j*dyj-^a^^ 
iag'pf.. which J{  ^peajti,,»ef  4i«lin0|<  d^}ayT-.the,;9ur^rtbP-  doc^pœ  and-i^y-t 
?^fft^^>plf^!,OM!rs^^,(Aï!9\i»d,..!th0 i;Vithji3|tftWe,.ci^ti  (p^çii ,si^eiOia||£Îa 
front  of  this  descendant  of  Conan  le  Fort,    .-v.-mic^  'tnÙ  'iu  U.;o.  »n)  092    « 

Itvmuiff; ,)^e  unde;c^c»odL,tihf^t  at  il^0icom«^^^c^em(^ixt,o|(.th^  W.<ientu- 
ry,  a  grcatunclepf  (ï^î,is^,(ïé,pPûr]bpe.t,iwhq  itpas  inlh,as^ité.of  the  J)i^ft 
d'AnJouj  crossetl.the  ryTcpee^,  wii«u,,t^t,  prince  becamej Philip  \t{  ^nct 
estft^lijhed  himself  .jH-c^spcrpUf^jy  jf^  ^Sp,^»":,;  .ijisr  direct  h'eirs,,çjied,fif;. 
teei^  y'e"^.l•s  a^, '{ind;^i8s,  Ï^Qï-|lf aç.L  \\hQ  hpd  ndyjer.ïo^  sïgbt  of  hor  rcla.- 
tiyp3/:bOTan(^;the^i0jyMtal4'^,,,}/le  the:  h^ir(iiss.:0.f  jthcir  fms 

tunc,  wTiich  was  said  to  be  considerable;  hoj  cla.iius^çre.coaitc.stqd, 
ye^y  jjustl^,,  b;^  Q?^e.of^the.^dflst;l^o:iip,c^  ^n,  Ci^jtne.a1)ipd,jt;o  the,  Spanish 
brancli  of  .th^  ^orhpçtç.,'  Hence,  thQ^.Jaiiv^è.ifitt  \fluq)^;  tTrijC  i^foftufta,^ 
cctogenariA.h  pujraups  jro.nij cpVrj;; F(j,Wliirl^  at  igreat !\ejçpeps)e,!  wjth  a  pçfi 
t-i-tc}icy  Almo.st  a^ppn^q^.,^  ^,,^^ap  )vhi^  ,'a^i«ts  Feu  f»icçida,  àipjçl 
;;iuusçs  ii^diffcreitt  p|(}q|Lmiipi^p dps,  ;Poq.tpr^  ^Pe^^aws^  d^,es ,  n^t  ^^^jf^ 
himseTf  to  J0ii>/^hç,ffufnqe^fifjif;[t^o^;i5;hp,la,i^^  is,  W  W^'^^PÇiVf 


42  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

puloua,  because,  notwithstanding  the  respect  he  professes  for  her,  he 
■  disapproves  explicitly  ot  the  use  to  which  the  poor  woman  devotes,  in 
her  imagination,  her  chijnerical  inheritance — -it  is  the  erection,  in  the 
neighboring  city,  of  a  cathedral,  in  the  finest  flamboyant  style,  which 
will- preserve  through  future  ages,  the  name  of  its  foundress,  and  that 
of  a  great  but  extinct  race.  This  cathedral,  a  dream  dnifted  on  a 
dream,-  ie  the  innocent  plaything  of  this  aged  child.  She  has  had  her 
plans  of  it  drawn  ;  she  passes  her  days,  sometimes  her  nights,  in  medi- 
tating on  its  splendors,  in  changing  its  arrangements,  pr  in  adding  or- 
naments to  it,  and  she  speaks*  of  it  as  of  a  monument  already  half 
built. 

'*  I  was  in  "the  nave  of  my  cathedral  ;  I  remarked  a  very  odious 
.  thing  in  the  north  aisle  to-night  ;  I  have  changed  the  beadle's  livery^ 
et  cetera."  * 

"Well,  Miss,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  shuffled  the  cards, ^4>have  you 
worked  at  your  cathedral  since  yesterday?" 

"  Yes,  doctor  ;  a  very  hapj^  idea  has  occurred  tome.  I  have  re- 
placed the  plain  wall,  which  separates  the  choir  from  the  sacristy,  by 
foliage  in  wrought  stone,  in  imitation  of  the  Chapel  of  Clisson,  in  the 
Church  of  Josselin.     It  is  much  lighter." 

"Yes,  certainly;  but  what  news  from  Spain  in  the  meantime?  Ah  ! 
is  it  true  ?  as  I  think  I  read  this  morning  in  the  Revue  des  Deux- 
Mondes,  that  the  young  Duke  of  Villa-Hermftsa  proposes  to  you  to  ter- 
minate your  law-suit  amicably  by  marriage  ?" 

Here  she  tossed  her  head  with  a  disdainful  motion,  shaking  the 
'  bunch  of  faded  ribbons  which  floated  over  her  cap — "  I  should  refuse 
distinctly,"  said  she.  • 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  say  that,  Miss  ;  but  wha.t  means  then  that  sound  of 
a  guitiir  which  has  been  heard  for  some  nights  under  your  windows?" 

"Bafi!" 

"  Bah  !  And  this  Spaniard,  in  mantle  and  yellow  boots,  whom  one 
sees  roaming  about  the  country  and  sighing  incessantly  ?" 

"You  are  a  wag,"  said  she,  tranquilly  opening  her  saufi^-box.  "For 
the  rest,  ^nce  you  wish  to  know,  my  man  of  business  wrote  to  me  from 
Madrid,  two  days  «go,  that  with  a  little  patience  we  should,  doubtless, 
1    see  the  end  of  our  sorrows." 

"Aha!  I  believe  it,  indeed  !  Do  you  know  where  he  comes  from, 
your  man  of  business  ?  From  the  tavern  of  Gil  Bias,  direct.  He 
will  receive  your  last  crown,  and  will  make  a  fool  of  you.  Ah  !  if  you 
would  only  be  advised  to  put  down  this  folly  and  live  tranquilly  !  How 
would  "millions  serve  you  ?  Are  you  not  happy,  and  held  in  considera- 
tion— and  what  do  you  want  more  ?  As  to  your  cathedral,  I  do  not 
speak  of  it,  because  it  is  a  bad  jest." 

"  My  cathedral  is  a  bad  jest  only  irf  the  eyes  of  bad  jesters.  Doctor 
Destnaresiii  J  besides,'!  defend  my  rights;  I  contend  for  justice;  the 
property  belongs  to  me,  I  have  heard  it  said  a  hundred  times  by  my 
father,  and  it  shall  never  go  with  my  consent  to  people  who  are  as 
much  stran^rs  to  my  family  as  you,  my  dear  friend,  or  as  the  gentle- 
man/' added  she,  indicating  me  with  a  motion  of  her  head. 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  ^3 

I  had  the  childishness  to  be  stung  by  this  politeness,  and  I  retorted  : 
''  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you  «re  mistaken,  for  my  family  had  the 
honor  of  marrying  with  yours  and  reciprocally." 

On  hearing  these  heiiious  words,  Miss  de  Porhoet  put  the  cards,  ar- 
ranged like  a  fan,  in  her  hand  to  her  pointed  chin-,  and  straightening 
her  emaciated  Ggure,  she  looked  me  in  the  face,  in  order  to  satisfy  her- 
self as  to  the  state  of  my  reason,  then  regained  her  calmness,  by  a  su- 
perhuman eôbrfc,  and  putting  a  pinch  of  Spanish  snuif  to.  hftr  thin 
nose,  said  :  "  You  shall  prove  that  to  me,  young  man." 

Ashamed  of  my  ridiculous  boasting,  and  very  much  embarrassed  by 
the  inquisitive  looks  that  it  had  drawn  upon  me,  I  bowed  awk- 
wardly, without  answering  her.  Our  game  was  finished  in  a  dull 
silence.  It  wasi  ten  o'clock,  and  I  was  preparing  to  steal  away,  when 
Miss  de  Porhoet  touched  my  arm  :  "  Mr.  Steward,  will' you  do  me  the 
'honor  of  accompanying  me  to  the  end  of  the  avenue  ?" 

I  acrain  bowed  and  followed  her. 


JiJj/  25. 

"We  soon  f  aind  Qurselvcs  in  the  park.  The  little  servant,  in  her  pro- 
vincial costume,  preceded  us,  carrying  a  lantern  ;  then  IMiss  de  Por- 
hoet, holding  with  a  careful  hand  the  thin  folds  of  her  silk  dress:  she 
had  coldly  refused  the  ofier  of  my  arm,  and  I  walked  at  her  side,  my 
head  lowered,  and  very  ill-pleased  with  myself  After  some  minutes  of 
this  gloomy  walk — "  Well,  sir,"  said  the  old  lady  to  me,  "  speak  then, 
I  am  waiting.  You  have  said  that  my  family  had  be^n  allied  to  yours, 
and  as  an  alliance  of  this  kind  is  a  point  of  history  entirel}i.new  to  nie, 
I  shall  be  very  nmeh  obliged  to  you  if  you  will  enlighten  me  upon  il." 

I  had  decided  in  my  own  mind  that  I  ought,  at  any  cost,  to  maintain 
the  secret  of  my  incognito. 

"Pardon  luc.  Miss,"  I  replied,  "I  hope  you  will  excuse  a  pleas- 
antry which  escaped  me  in  the  course  of  conversation." 

*A  plea.santry  !"  cried  she,  "the  subject,  in  truth,  affords  much 
pleasantry.  And  what  do  you  call,  in  this  age,  the.  pleasantries  that  a'Vc 
openly  addressed  to  an  old,  unprotected  woman,  and  that  no  one  would 
dare  to  allow  himself  to  address  to  a  man  ?" 

."  Alas  !  you  leave  me  no  retreat  possible;  nothing  more  remains  for 
me  but  to  confide  in  your  discretion.  I  do  not  know,  Miss,  whether  the 
name  of  Champccy  d'lTauterive'is  known  to  you?" 

"  I  know  perl'octly,  sir,  the  Champcey  d'llauterives,  who  arc  a  good, 
an'cxccllent  family  of  Dauphin}'.  What  conclusion  do  you  draw  from 
it  ^"  '  ''' 

"  I  am,  to-day,  the  representative  of  this  family." 

"  You?"  said  Miss  de  Porhoet,  making  a  sudden  hjflt;  "  you  are  a 
Champccy  d'Hatiterivc  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed." 

"  That  alters,  the  case,"  said  she  ;  "  give  me  your  arm,  cousin,  and 
iell  me  your  history." 

I  believed  that  in  the-  present  state  of  things  it  was  best  to  conceal 


r'8:t.hing,.frprEi ,;ixei;.. .  .jt^i-^rjpy^ateij^; th)e  j^3,i^l^^l,r^^  thp .jaotisfprtupes 
giilafly' narrow  ami  low,,\jff|a;^U  was^  ^'i^j^G^^^^  ,m&  QF,^h^7a,Pg!l,Q&j%p*^ 
4?^gfiit:^i";ot  the,  }ci»gs.of ';Q^ael^  stqppi^ng  [^^.'^Up^  ib,re4^1cl  9fJ;^li^^pû(J>r 
iJi,to',,à  littJe,pq,.rK)r' wfk  a  '  ,%i,çk,  4pQf .J  ,p.  î^e  va^'o-  inj^ai^-y' ^  .which.'^oy- 
càrefihmc';  bii'ithje.yffiiiitel-pigçe'I'i^^^ 


ç;yç!ryî'h;pg  .spolie  ^'qf  rjgid  Jîi3pj-jç^tj^,  '^^à.  wi|çj,çi,'9,n|^;,bi;Qjitl^ed  cfiTifj^r^f, 
ir^i«^'d;,ôdor 'of ■/iri;S,/Sp3ai^^^  ■h^^xm'r'i^nh  ,î^ppafi:^ïç,a^(?îpf^'tiç , dïug^.,.' r  ..^jV/;- 

.,"^'  Sit  <îown,j.:s||;S^^];i^,|a^    ^pk^^:^èj;0mM^o^yMk' 

down,  cousin,  ior  though  in  reality  wç,,,^rg,flip|irj^î^tj.'';eg,,^d;q^M 
so.  since  Jeanne  de  Porhoet  and  Ilugîies  de  Cliaiîipcey  had  tlie'folîy, 
between  you  and  me,  the  folly,  notjo.  increase  the  stock;,  it  would  be  ' 
agreeable  to  me,  with  j-our  permission,  to  treat  you  as  a  cousin,  in  pri- 
vate.y.inrpydev  to  beguile  the  sad  feeling  of  my  loneliness  for  the.  time, 
■^be  paèt  is  i,n/î.eed  j:(.ijbteY,,hu!fe  I-fîyi,l|  sijigg^t  .^113$; thoughts  .which- ,^re 


^ee  the  simpletons  ■^qici'  former  ^e;!%ç(^,jid|pg-|;Q^4^  Ux  ,tii^ij:,,ça^^ii|g§f^{ 
î),eâicle_s,  I  ayi  oo.t  T^iï^jfi^i^uif'  :beljjevi|iT,g'., t^^^  'pj^^enî,'  to  ijeWîPj  • 

spme  p.nio^g  ustp.st^^^ 

S-f  l;o\ûj.n-fi7:  }h.^y%Àèi  h'^%p^i^s^,e:^c^,ipj  pjij^^  t'^i'^qas.,' .a,  s,p,eçÀes'0j£'' 
^f?h  *^^.  ^,i.^''M^)i>i9f ;'^l^s|^^<^j  ^hèrft  gp'Jd'^p^  ^i^^jifipice pass,  ipr,  n'oithip^j 

cordih'g  to  all  appearance, 'the  prbvîàentîàl  j^ii^ÇjaUça'/jfîi.^^^^^ 
{ipQiand  (^f.mipe^V:,,.  ,,,  ,  ,^  ..,,-  t-..  r,.,;v-r-'j' '''vv^fr ''•"..'=!  ^r^t^-'p' 

■  Î ■expressedlw^^prpucl;^  |^f as  at, Jl4aH^ipg;.'hè(ep  .fîlos^R (??:# 'ftfR P -«Ïïuj 
tp.  the  worM  the'ftQbTeyàn^.ruptjpn.  pi',  wh^cl^  ^.^''^'id'sa.^piif'cli,  nepd^'apcl  ■ 
lly^which  it  was  spji^t^i^j  4îspfeei  t^  pw^t^j;  ,;J'hjeii^> 
j^  .ftwn  part,'!  [^îj^^^pai^^^r.  iu^^  '  !^QVEi.}X^ 

when  one  has  seen  iii"  ffie-GO^r^p  pf^[sL\Jiiij&J0^3^'ipçt{^^ 
Wthy  of  his  name,,:and  four  ;hrpthûrs,^j]7,cp'^,,P^^^  thpir  father.  Mil', by 
^^  builet  pr  th.o  steely  w^^e.h  one  hg^^pè.^P^^^  pjDJepta  of  ûne''sr  ^f-, 

fectioh  and  of  one's- worship,  s'ucçe9^Y^|;i)^^^  jax^'^ 

s^.al,l  S|ppl,  to.  be  oçcujjic^  abo«t  ^'.m^  ',abuç^pt',tablç,  or  a  tpi- 

5f/^,#We  or^  le^s  •jft^ah.^.r  ^ 

£hè  only  coi^defation,  you  may  hielievè'  thfft  I  shoulï'he  very  in'HlSl^rj 
ent  about  my  miIU<ji),^ji-(j.^u, -Spain  ;.j|u^at^,ep.i^  Sflitab/ç^.apd.,^,  ^PPd 
^xajfiple,.  that  »;,!?OMfSfî})^,^.f-'^^'H^é:?î?f'^M)! 

without  leaving  after  it  some  îastirig  fracê,' s6i^e.j,d|cmQUS!ni|9nm^^^^ 
it?  grandeur  and  its  faith.     This,  is  why,  in  iniitatiofl  ^t.^iV^'e^vy  ÎPJ 
î|ipc42stor^,  I  ha^^g ..dr^auied^^ ppi^ip )0P 4j l^,wil/,p,e wpj^^iy e.^he  dref»    up ^hi  1  e 
i  nave  lite,  61  thé  pioiis  éndoii^erit  whicn 'you  nave,, iji^aridi^^ 
f j..]5eiçg ^ .  ^^ured .. .cf. mj;  meni.,  th,e^  .npjb.]e.j,ftld3 , ^^4^ sÇ;effèfl-  -tP'; r.çi^liéci 


htt  Hiduglits/ffhdi'n'îiiîc'  ?li'c''Wfeèa  Villi' i^  ^VéT^ii,èîi6l/-è''x^re?s::rî  tip'Â 
■1:iieteH-c^ffaccd'l)brti'n'it^'of]1ïcr''}^nëèfi^^;'^  ajbrî'c 

■^^tîrb^d  the  irirlmgHtV.îl^fSdc/Jri  'tli'e'cliW^^  '"X^ef6"inJf  bc;'' 

^^hé'^addènly  rosuiric^,  fî)'  a>'ul^turi'' vtiTce,-''-tîiérd  ■Will'be  ?1  cîia]ù^er'(f^.' 
■'élirons  tegiïlarlykttii^Kcd;'  fô''ttid  sc^yic'ë'ttf  cjiurcli'.'  '  EacH\3uj"^^:. 

■  '■tli'é^ zépôsé  of  ' i|î y  'f ôTÏl 'aiid  lliii  iàbh' '6t  îrrjr'- a qtJe.^W'rs.  '  ■  Thé'  féet  ■df^j^a 

mé    ''      "  -   '■■■ •'•  '■     •-— - '  ■     -    '•-^^■- 


.  _  ,       ;V^Î),-  ,     -, 

■'■'■iiJrrës'dè  PôrKôfet' 'tx36,fe|'it)iv''fi^^^ 

-■^¥^iy;6oimji,"  kd^^M'J'^i'klf^p^i^m'^yài^^^  so.'; 'My  .:fiith'^i-;.\^lîo 

'diâ  not  He,  alt^a;ffe'  hyurctJiac^^aHlit;  telliiiiictïojj'iîxf  tïic'  dp'cict -idbgt^ii- 

dc^ntsof  --  ^--^^   '----'-    —    '--'^  '---■-   ^'-'^'^'i»-^-  •«•'-    ^ 

liéritàTic 
-fïèrfl- 

'sHù,  iàfter  a  pause/attd-ihnth^'in^à'cefcht'.-of'Wuçh^ri^^^  ^  if  "T alii' îi6: 

'  cfazy  T  ani'  oltî;'arid  tïjofee '\iifetii;  dotvri  tlierçi'i'iiô^y  ït  Vieil. ''Tli»cy;t?^?o 
^'«ïràwn  me   on' ftr'.fifteën'yedre  '-^îili  obè'dplay,  ftrtd' i'ùbtl^cr,^' tIiey''àjto 

Tvaiting  for-  m'y''â'cht'h;'H^iiiëE  \^jn'!'BÀd  ^ttsrvfilimg^tld'you -ét'b-'tiiyj 
''will  not  need'  t(j  Wait  lbrig;j''ï>ia4t  iîiàkç(;tb/  l'açt  sacfUcdbire  of'tlict/j 
; attys,  I  feel  it:  ;T]^tiâ'"p6w  Cnfclic^i^iy  i^iy'sBfêîovc'f^-ivhich/^^1^^^ 

ik'rty  heart  ^6'mirdh'''di<:iii;hca-'6^  rd]ml8,Dd  affecftôt^k'fill'-iiljlèr  ^ie 
-ûiiké-thv.n  one'sïone-;'tte6f"tii^  UkHih''''-  ';^'  ^'  '^V"'  '    "  '''''"''  "' 
•'^"'ithè  old  Mfcmeël'  'Sîia-bhi^'éd'À^v^'  tvro'ïér^^froni  Wi^ffi^- 
'■è'f  fôce^vfith  hçr  thÎYi  liafiaS;iiiH(j'^c^^'a?stoîlé^-adtîcd':  f'-faVd.JtY'St, 


'"tîiiuld'not  do  léiis.'fôf'tl)l3'Hbti'ir'lof  Mi^  faiMly,  'àodVb~it;;mot^ve/--*Mf. 
'•  difirié  Laroque  Tf Sl,'^- ïÈQtljidbfc '^/f-  V^imj^li^-  jr, 'ëVeh''to'''heV.  difTi^^R^ei-'i'^ '^ 
■■ ''  iiy  coiïferefice'\v,it|vtïic''il4' ladj;;lrts|iiV^^ 

■^'rtli'I  have  er^^'^*"*'^^^'*'^'^  ^^'yi,^,^tU  fn'f.i*^''"TW>i'iî>AVi  iii^M\A)rr-V}%m^. 
"*^cided  drawi 

•  hW  dçKr  cath  _      ,        ^  .,  •       ji^    r  '        ?-  p ^ 

iplckécd  by  this  àtii3K;oh;'anci''àliù)(ist'bfc^j;'U'VfcÂiii'<i;l%li^^^  im'^xàél: 
^Wljîst  la  finishûd;';I-^-fo  tt^Mra-«m^-  rthâ'W^lidàl'^li^ixli'  ï^^f^tm'l 

'-ti'y^a  statue,  a  pulpit,  .oV''a'^nei^y/,M$rgTierîtB.-!Wh'b'i^^érti«s  %ô>^ë^         ' 
'^4ieighbor  with  a'  fbcïi^Tg' oF'aaora't^oh,''hti(à-  'c'dii'ttibdtàî'  td 'è^y  •  Tt^VX'A- 

charity  by  devoting  an  album  to,  this  mopup^entof  the  Porhoets>;\HbwIi 

;'l 4m  charged  to  file.  /'',  ^';'  '-'    =  "  .•••^  '^■-;  "-«-C  '-  '\''-'^  ;*  " 


46  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

tlious^li  slic  could  still  keep  up  her  ordinary  correspondence,  lier  eyes 
were  too  weak  to  decipher  the  manuscripts  in  her  possession,  and  she 
had  shriuiTv  from  incurring  the  raillery  oê  her  neighbors  by  engaging 
any  to  undertake  this  labor.  In  short,  she  accepted  nit»  as  botli  coun- 
sel and  assistant.  I  have  since  most  conscientiously  studied  the  vo- 
luminous papers  relating  to  her  lawsuit,  and  I  am  convinced  that  the 
cause,  which  will  soon  have  its  final  trial,  is  hopelessly  lust  Mr.  Laube- 
pin,  whq^n  I  have  consulted,  is  of  the  same  opinion,  which  I  have  con- 
cealed from  my  good  old  friend  as  far  as  possible.  In.  the  meantime  I 
aive  her  the  pleasure  of  seeing  me  examine,  paper  by  paper,  her  fami- 
ly archives,  in  whick  she  constantly  hoped  to  discover  some  title  deci- 
sive in  her  favor.  Unfortunately,  the^e  archives  are  very  extensive, 
and  the  pigeon-house,  their  place  of  depo^,  is  filled  with  them  from 
the  top  to  the  bottom.  " 

Yestei;day*  I  went  early  to  Miss  de  Porhoet's,  in  order  to  complete 
the  examination  of  bundle  No.  115,  which  I  began  the  previous  eve- 
ning, before  the  hour  for  breakfast.  The. mistress  of  the  house  had  not 
risen,  and  I  seated  myself'  quietly  in  the  parlor,  by  consent  of  the  Httle 
servant  and  began  my  dusty  work.  At  the  evid  of  an  hour,  as-  I  was 
gladly  runningovcrthe  last  leaf  of  bundle  115,she  entered",  carrying  with 
diflSculty  an  enormous  package,  carefully  covered  with.wlute  linen. 

"  Oood  moyiing,  my  kind  cousin,"  said  she.  "Hearing  that  y<^. 
gave  yourself  so  much  trouble  for  me  this  morning,  I  have  given  my- 
self tt  little  trouble  for  you. ,   I  have  brought  you  the  .bundle  No.  116." 

In  some  tale,  there  is  an  unhappy  princess  shut  up  in  a  tower,  and  a 
wicked  fairy,  who  hates  het  family,  imposes  on  her,  time 'after  time, 
work  of  the  most  extraordinary  and  impossible  kind.  I  confess,  that 
in  spite  of  her  many  virtues,  Miss  de  Porhoet  seemed  to  rae  at  that 
.moment  to  be  a  near  relative  of  that  fairy. 

'•  I  dreamed  last  night,"  she  continued,  "  that  this  bundle,  contains 
the  key  to  my  Spanish  treasure.  You  will  oblige  me  v'erv  much  by  not 
deferring. its  examination.  When  this  is  done,  jou  will  du  me  the  hon- 
or to  partake  of  a  modestrepast  that  I  intend  to  offer  you  in  my  arbor." 

I  resigned  myself  to  my  fate.  It  is  needless  to  say  th:it  the  happy 
bundle  116  contained,  like  its  predecessors,  only  the  useless  dust  of 
ages.  Precisely  at  noon,  the  old  lady  came  to  ofier  nac  her  arm,  and 
conducted  me,  with  great  cere*nony,  into  a  little  garden,  set  round  with 
bos,  and  which  formed,  with  an  end  of  the  adjoining  meadow,  all  the 
actual  domain  of  the  Porhoets.  The  table  was  laid  under  au  elm-tree, 
the  branches  of  which  were  bent  so  as  to  form  an  arbor.  It  was  a  beau- 
tiful summer's  day,  and  the  sunlight,  which  here  and  thepe  penetrated 
the  shade,  fell  upon  the  brilliantly  white  and  scented  table-cloth.  I 
had  done  honor  to  the  poulet  doié,  the  fresh  salad,  and  to  the  bottle  of 
old  Bordeaux  wine,  which  composed  our  feast,  when  she,  wlio  seemed  de-- . 
lighted  with  my  appetite,  turned  the  conversation  upon  the  Laroque 
family. 

"  I  confess  to  you,"  said  she,  "  I  do  not  like  the  old  sailor.  Ire- 
member  when  he  came  into  this  country,  he  had  a  large  monkey  which 
he  dressed  like  a  servant,  and  which  seemed  to  understand  him  per- 
fectly.    Thjs  animal  was  a  real  pest  to  the  neighborhood;  and  only  a 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  4^1 

man  without  education  and  without  decency,  could  have  been  so  ■^'rapt 
up  in  it.  It  was  called  a  monkey,  and-  I  am  willing  it  should  be,  but 
in  my  heart,  I  think  it  was  a  negro,  and  the  more  so,  because  I  have 
always  suspected  his  master  to  liave  been  engaged  in  the  slave-trade 
on  the  coast  of  Africa.  However,  the  son,  the  late  Mr-.  Laroque,  was 
a  good  man,  and  decidedly  comme  il  faut.  xVs  to  the  ladies — I  speak 
of  Madame  Laroque  and  her  daughter,  not  of  the  widow  Aubry,  who 
is  a  mean  woman  of  low  birth^ — as  to  those  ladies,  I  say,  there  is  no 
praise  which  they  do  not  merit." 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet  was  heard  in  tli^  path 
just  outside  the  garden  wall,  and  in  another  instant  some  one  knocked 
at  a  little  door  close  to  the  arbor. 

"  Well,"  said  Miss,  de  Porhoet,  '-who  is  there.?"  I  looked  up  and 
saw  a  black  plume  waving  aljove  the  top  of  the  wall.  * 

"Open,"  said  a  clear,  musical  voice,  gaily,  "open,  it  is  the  Fortune 
of  France  !" 

"  What!  it  is  you,  my  darling,"  cried  the  old  lady.  "  Piun^  quick, 
cousin." 

On  opening  the  door,  I  was  nearly  thrown  by  Mervyn,  as  he  dashed 
past  me  into  the  garden,  and  I  perceived  Marguerite,  who  was  engaged 
in  fastening  her  horsa  to  the  bars  of  à  fence. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  she,  without  exhibiting  the  least  surprise 
at  finding  me  there.  Then  gathering  up  the  folds  of  her  riding-habit 
under  her  arm,  she  entered  the  garden. 

"  You  are  very  welcome  this  beautiful  day,"  said  Miss  de  Porhoet; 
"  kiss  me.  You  have  ridden  very  fast,  mad  girl,  for  your  face  is  a 
bright  purple,  and  fire  seems  literally  flashing  from  your  eyes.  What 
can  I  offtir  you  ?"  ,. 

"  liCt  us  see,"  said  Marguerite,  glancin*  at  the  table,  "what  have 
you  there  ?  iNIr.  Odiot  has  eaten  everything.  No  matter,  I  am  not 
hungry— I  am  only  thirsty." 

*'  I  forbid  your  drinking  in  such  a  state  as  you  are  in  ;  but  wait — 
there  arc  simie  strawberries  in  that  bed." 

"  Strawberries  !  0,  joy  !"  sang  the  young  girl — "  quick,  sir  I 
take  one  of  those  large  leaves,  and  come  with  me." 

While  Î  was  selecting  one  of  the  largest  leaves  from  a  fig-treè,  Miss 

de  Porhoot  watched  with'  a  smile  of  approbation  the  proud  march  of 

.  her  favorite  across  the  garden-walks  in  the  full  sun  :  "  Look  at  her, 

cousin,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  "is  she  not  worthy  to  belong  to  us?" 

Marguerite,  tripping  in  her  long  skirt  at  almost  every  step  as  she 
bent  over  the  strawberry-bed,  hailed  .with  a  little  shout  of  joy  each 
strawberry  she  found.  She  would  now  and  then  put  one  berry  ifpon 
the  tig-K'uf  that  I  held  in  my  hand,  for  every  two  she  ate,  to  give  her 
patience,  \yhen  she  had  gathered  all  she  wished,  we  returned  in 
trinmi)h  to  tlie  arbor  :  the  strawberries  that  we  brought  were  suc^ared. 
and  then  cnten. 

"  Ah  !  that  has  done  me  good  !"  said  Marguerite,  throwing  her  hat 
on  a  seat  and  leaning  against  the  hedge.  "  And  now,  to  complete  my 
happiness,  my  dear  *ady,  you  will  relate  to  me  some  history  of  former 
days,  of  the  time  when  you  were  a  beautiful  warrior," 


f{  ililiii, 


tn'hçainng  heri  i;ep,9%'  IVpmAge.'to' all  the  heroj^^^f.^^Vose  .^igan.tjcr  strug,- 

Jge^,,;WayalesBrc|  ^^ 

most  tender  interest.  Marguerite  listeUj^cl,  p,9  ^^thps^^^recitjil^.wKy  Â^,^^ 
pjonatçj attention  rwhiehtji^OQi^^  ^f 'L»  ^H^'^ib^ffi^^?'  ]^^%  ,^.^^9%^ip^^ 
;ïi  ë  i^gd;  Viii  <i^  her  I  ^:ipq|^(^y  e^ 

t'ltity  of  à't'tàtué';  soinetimes  a 'teenç.r  [iij.^yesi  wuuW  be  ,|ro»^^'d,j^i!}4 
çshe  wou^d  j{|)lajCo  her- elbQjvs  p^,jtl^e,  lijÙr^.ia<l^le^^aQd  jpliuig 
'in 'tlve'  waves'  of  .her;|alrj^she  j5^o^u|(^'fla^t  ,?n  ,t|5p^9|^  Vejadeeja^.itli^  ^^- 

1  shall  always  couiit  among' the  sweetest  hours  of  my  sadJi)Çé,i'^i^ 

;|]3P,t,  1  ^spepti in  çw^efl?jihftâjig,,j^^i;it' -rwjb^E;  ,f9G%fr£^j^nt  .with  jtl^p  /f ofiec- 
,*t;ûn'ûf  the  clear' sky  and  the  synipaihy  of  a  courageous  heart.  ■■  m'Hi-  o 
[ujf^liYiiepi  Mis$,.^|^a|ih(^t,Ge?ige^  |i|qj,fi^iniinis{;en^§e,  ^^arg,ucnt^,en!r|jra- 
f  ,Qe!d  lifir,.  an4)»9)isjflg.^jt^r,\'l^  J  ,a§léejp.,aX  |i«i;  ;  ^ee^,j  fiçaouneed  her  intjÇf^^- 
'ed  return  ito  the  chateau.  ..,jjjl;^f4'¥?i^4^W^§Pf9»V9?i'^iW*'Wn5çg  th^ 

the.  £aine,.tim.ej[jfejeljî>gîfieji^ajp,I'*^oul4;  (f^u^e^lif;!'  i)fij,efla^arj,-a$^>nent. 

•ilieài Jea  ithe.jeatr^pi^  ;;^nsigriiÉçfiD.çfi  ;XD^fjpxy  fiç^spn  ap,4;??iy  con^paif^j,  %ii 
"the  dyes  of  tlie  wealthy  heiress, ;^(,4^te-:afiê|t,e,.^fp_§ri^j[^y  gave  h.çp- ft?,^})- 
.  uayaï?,ee,  l^ivii]|2?thç^v  'bay/,n,g|.giy,çp,,  jie?;f$hq,flihç^^^  e^d,uçationi|th9i)'she 
Ji^dhefself.  receiye^rji^jWe,  Qf|,'i^iî^itjslï;pô|ouJi^^^,j  It  is  wel}-  kr^çjwn 
^tiiut-  the  Eji^glip.b  giy,q  wflMTÇnRhp%;e>j?^!i?;rÀage3,.,4JlL|})e  iavdepepj^ftçfe 

■wliich  we  feo  wls^ely  gràrit  them   on  the  day  when  any  ,alau8q;pf  jit:b§- 

jon \^^8  tîieveiWeîlefÇ  th.e.^gaft^R .together ;;Ifhc!ldItdie.ist!ÎrrupwhilQ;abc 

mounted  lier  horse,  and  we  went  toward' t^QntsbatéaiU.  .After  ,wfiibîi«i 

™tak,e#  ^.ijf((!w  MSfPfe  V-ï?  i^rôM-îS.ai^nshe/it-^iflalQîûittofdi^ui^h' y><JTi  very 

unseasonably,  it  seems  to  me;'.;;Yt>wcï*'ere  iBiwserjyi'&greealbly.soelctijï.Mflj 

•  'lis "  ïiijik ;true,..JV|i.»s  5. (IrftMs-jï iha<lfbefin  'thf r^  ^(Tbng  time  I  forgi^K; 'you, 

and  I  even  thank' J^k"  ;(':v/  :M:-.m  iino-  .-■jV/vj!  oii-uJ  ^^u:!'  '! .  -H'»  :-ij:l 
v'l^-  ¥od  showig^eàt.atteriticm:t(Dfoût^^^ô^'^^i^g^fet*î^My'■ï^ 
'i^grktetul  toyo|i'fbi-nt-'i:i'-'--;'r;i^ '!'»  r-i'sv;  h   n.hvj  b^/r»i;w  j-.uif-îfrï  ob 
.•îi^'«:AfT[î'yoùi'-h1ôïh^r'sMà\!i^WÉer^?^>-èài9:i';'!^  ■^^''î*:',^-'^'?  ^''^^ • 

"■■•  -^1*' iAhl'i'^^^aot'ijeyfew^jliaig^'  sé  reâ'diM  "'Jf  7(^1  hàWt'hc  i(îék'èMt 
c-.jt-.aàmîré'yotVy'ô'u  telM^h^^éiy  ^ô^ôén.é'^ik'to^T^^ltlàlTiitlé  longeK-'l  a^ïi 
^■fc^t  id ■  the  hltbltJ t)f  Ijlièuîn^* h'^iniinW atttiôWg'lfc'Ti'tiy  V ''^ïiey  g-ènèràlîy' Hà^c 

i?d 


,  ,   ,       -     -.^. , „_.  p^'àtn'not  vëiT^^tire 

•Jtfi*t^tf'^àï*e--fiôïf^'ffeyiiVt  èè%k-'t<Dfl^''în'th«''^6pfe''-'df  being  iiiadè"Ê*r 
heir."  :  ...  fi.!r?n./!}bn« 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  49 

"  Yes,  suffer  me  to  express  to  you  the  respectful  pity  to  which  it 
seems  to  me  you  have  a  right." 

"  Pity  !"  said  she,  stopping  her  horse,  and  turning  toward  me  with 
eyes  half  shut  with  disdain.  "  I  have  not  the  honor  to  understand 
you." 

"  My  meaning  is  very  simple,  however,  if  disbelief  in  all  goodness, 
if  distrust  and  barrenness  of  soul  are  the  bitterest  fruits  of  experience, 
during  a  long  life,  nothing  in  the  world  merits  compassion  more  than  a 
heart  withered  by  distrust  before  it  has  lived." 

"  Sir  !"  replied  Miss  Laroque,  with  unusual  vavaoity,  "  you  do  not 
know  what  you  are  talking  about!  and,"  added  .sh(j  more  sharply, 
"  you  forget  to  whom  you  are  talking." 

"  That  is  true,"  I  gently  replied,  bowing  ;  "  I  spoke  without  know- 
ledge, and  I  forgot  to  whom  I  spoke  ;  but  you  set  me  the  example." 

Marguerite,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  top  of  the  trees  which 
shaded  the  road,  said,  with  ironical  dignity,  "  Must  I  ask  your  pardon?" 

"  Assuredly,  Miss,"  I  replied  with  emphasis,  "  if  one  of  us  have  to  ask 
forgiveness  of  the  other,  it  will  be  you  :  you  are  rich,  and  I  am  poor  ; 
you  can  humble  yourself — I  cannot!" 

There  was  silence.  lier  compressed  lips,  her  distended  nostrils,  her 
sudden  pallor,  showed  the  violence  of  the  inward  struggle.  Suddenly, 
lowering  her  head  as  for  a  salutation  :  "  Ah,  well  !"  said  she,  "  forgive 
me  !"  At  the  same  tim«  she  struck  her  horse  a  violent  Wow  and  set 
off  on  a  gallop,  leaving  me  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

I  have  not  seen  her  since. 


II. 

July  30. 

The  calculation  of  probabilities  is  never  mpre  unprofitable  than  when 
it  is  exercised  on  the  subject  of  a  woman's  thoughts  and  feelings. 
Not  caring  to  find  myself  so  soon  in  Marguerite's  presence,  after  the 
painful  scene  which  had  taken -place  between  us,  I  had  spent  two  days 
without  going  to  the  chateau.  I  hardly  hoped  this  short  interval 
would  have  sufficed  to  calm  the  resentment  I  had  caused  in  her  proud 
heart.  However,  yesterday  morning,  about  seven  o'clock,  as  I  was 
writing  near  the  open  window  of  my  turret,  I  heard  myself  called,  in 
a  tone  of  friendly  gaiety,  by  the  very  person  of  whom  I  believed  I  had 
made  an  enemy. 

"  Mr.  Odiot,  are  you  there?" 

Ï  presented  myself  at  my  window,  and  I  saw  in  a  boat,  stationed  near 
the  bridge.  Marguerite,  holding  back  the  brim  of  her  large  straw  hat, 
and  looking  up  at  my  dark  tower. 

"  Here  I  am,  Miss,"  said  I,  eagerly. 
.  "  Will  you  take  a  walk  ?" 

After  the  fears  with  which  I  had  been  tormented  for  the  last  two 
days,  80  much  condescension  made  me  fear  I  was  the  plaything  of 
some  foolish  dream. 

4  _  • 


50  The  Bomanee  of  a  Poor  Young  Man* 

"  I  beg  pardon — -what  did  you  say  ?"  ,      • 

"  Will  you  come  to  take  a  little  walk  with  Alain,  Mervyn  and  me  ?'' 

"Certainly."  •  . 

"  Very  well  !  take  your  album." 

I  hastened  down  and  ran  along  the  side  of  the  river. 

"Ah!  ah!"  said  tbe  young  girl,  laughingly  to  me,  "you  are  in  a 
good  humor  this  morning,  it  appears  ?"         . 

I  murmured  awkwardly  some  confused  reply,  to  the  end  that  I  was 
always  in  a  good  humor,  of  which  she  seemed  incredulous;  then  I 
sprang  into  th^  boat  and  seated  myself  at  her  side. 

"  Row,  Alain,"^  said  she,  and  the  old  man,  who  prided  himself  on 
being  a  master  boatman,  began  to  pull  at  the  oars  methodically,  which 
gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  heavy  bird  making  vain  efforts  to  fly. 
"  It  was  necessary,"  said  Marguerite,  "  for  me  to  come  and  tear  you 
away  from  your  castle,  since  you  have  obstinately  sulked  there  for  two 
days." 

"  Miss  Laroque,  I  assure  you  that  discretion  alone — respect— fear" — 

"  Ah  !  Gracious  !  respect — fear — you  have  sulked.     We  know  better  ' 
than  you,  positively.     My  mother,  who  maintains,  I  do  not  well  know 
why,  that  we  oi%ht  to  treat  you  with  great  consideration,  has  begged 
me  to  sacrifice  myself  on  the  altar  of  your  pride,  and  being  an  obedient 
âaughter,  i  sacrifice  myself." 

1  expressed  frankly  my  warm  gratitude  to  her. 

"  Not  to  do  things  by  halves,"  she  resumed,  "  I  resolved  to  give  a 
treat  to  your  fancy,  your  taste;  behold,  therefore,  a  beautiful  summer 
morning,  the  forests,  and  open  glades,  with  all  the  effects  of  light, 
desirable  birds  singing  amidst  the  foliage,  a  mysterious  bark  gliding 
over  the  water — you  who  love  such  things  ought  to  be  content." 

"  I  am  enchanted." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  not  bad." 

I  was,  indeed,  satisfied,  for  the  moment,  with  my  destiny.  The 
banks  between  which  we  glided  were  covered  with  newly-cut  hay,  which 
scented  the  air.  I  saw  fly  past  us  the  the  sombre  avenues  of  the  park 
in  which  the  morning  sun  scattered  trails  of  light;  millions  of  insects, 
intoxicated  with  the  dew  in  the  calices  of  the  flowers,  hummed  joy- 
ously around  us  Opposite  me,  the  good  Alain  smiled  upon  me  at 
each  stroke  of  the  oar,  with  an  air  of  complacency  and  protection  ; 
nearer  me.  Marguerite,  dressed  in  white,  contrary  to  her  custom,  beau- 
tiful, fresh,  and  pure  as  a  periwinkle,  shook  off  with  one  hand  the 
pearly  drop  which  the  early  morning  âir  had  suspended  to  the  lace  of 
her  hat,  and  held  the  other  as  an  attraction  to  the  faithful  Mervyn,  fol- 
lowing us  in  the  water.  Truly  it  would  not  have  required  any  urgent 
solicitation  to  make  me  go  to  the  end  of  the  world  in  this  little  white 

boat.  .  *  . 

As  we  left  the  boundaries  of  the  park  by  passing  under  one  of  the 
arches  which  pierced  the  wall  inclosing  it  :  "  You  do  not  ask  me,  Sir, 
where  I  am  taking  you,"  said  the  young  créole. 

"  No,  no,  Miss,  it  is  equally  unimportant  to  me." 

"  I  am  taking  you  into  fairy-land," 
•    "  I  doubt  that." 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  51 

"  Miss  Ilelouin,  more  versed  than  I  in  poetic  matters,  ought  to  have 
told  you  that  the  clumps  of  trees  which  cover  the  country  for  twenty 
leagues  round,  are  the  remains  of  the  old  forest  of  Brocelyande,  where 
the  ancestors  of  your  friend,  INIiss  de  Porhoet,  the  sovi?reigns  of  Gael, 
hunted,  and  where  the  grandfather  of  Mervyn  was  enchanted,  enchanter 
though  he  was,  himself,  by  a  young  girl;  by  the  name  of  Vivian.  But 
we  shall  soon  be  in  the  centre  of  this  forest.  But  if  this  is  not  suffici- 
ent to  excite  your  imagination,  know  that  these  woods  still  preserve  a 
thousand  traces  of  the  mysterious  religion  of  the  Celts  5  they  are  paved 
with  them.  You  have,  therefore,  good  cause  to  picture  to  yourself  a 
Pruid^  in  a  white  lobe,  under  each  of  those  shades,  and  to  see  a  golden 
sickle  glitter  in  each  ray  of  the  sun.  The  religion  of  these  intolerable 
o\d  men  has  even  left  near  here  in  a  solitary  spot,  romantic,  picturesque, 
et  cetera,  a  monument,  before  which  those  persons  disposed  to  ecstasy, 
are  accustomed  to  swoon  j  I  thought  you  would  take  pleasure  in  sketch- 
ing it,  and  as  the  place  is  not  easy  to  find,  I  resolved  to  serve  you  as  a 
guide,  demanding  no  other  reward  than  to  be  spared  the  explosions  of 
an  enthusiasm  which  I  should  not  know  how  to  sympathize  with." 

**  Be  it  so,"  said  I,  "  I  will  restrain  myself." 

"  I  pray  you  to  do  so." 

"  That  is  understood.     And  what  do  yOu  call  this  monument  ?" 

"  For  myself,  I  call  it  a  heap  of  large  stones  ;  some  of  the  antiqua- 
rians call  it,  simply  a -f/y^/n^î,  others,  more  pretentious,  a  cromlech: 
the  country-people  name  it,  without  explaining  why,  the  mi'i/ourdit."* 

Our  boat  moved  gently  along  with  the  current  of  the  stream  between 
two  strips  of  damp  meadow;  small  black  cattle^  with  long,  sharp  horns, 
rose  here  and  there  at  the  sound  of  the  oars,  and  watched  us  pass  with 
wild,  lavage  eyes.     The  valley,  through  which  the  gradually  widening 
river  wound,  was  shut  in  by  a  chain  of  hills  on  each  side  ;  those  on 
one  side  were  covered  with  broom  and  dried  vines  and  rushes;  those 
on  the  other  by  green  coppicewood.     From  tim»  to  time,  deep  gullies  ' 
between  the  hills  opened  a,  sinuous  prospective,  at  the  end  of  which  one 
could  see  the  blue  summit  of  some  distant  mountain.     Marguerite,  not-, ./ 
withstanding  her  professed  incompetence,  constantly  pointed  out  to. nàô. ;;.-■" 
the  beauties  of  this  landscape,  at  once  so  soft  and  so  sharply  defined, 
always  accompanying  her  remarks  by  some  ironical  observations. 

All  at  once  a  continuous  hollow  noise  announced  our  near  approach 
to  a  water-fall,  and  the  valley  closed,  assuming  the  aspect  of  a  wild, 
lonesome  gorge.  On  our  left,  rose  a  high  wall  of  rocks,  carpeted  with 
moss;  oaks  mingled  with  firs,  and  ivy  and  hanj^^ng  briers  supporting 
themselves  in  the  crevices  of  the  hill  down  to  the  shore,  threw  a  mysteri- 
ous, shadow  on  the  deep  water  at  the  foot  of  the  rocks.  Some  hundred 
steps  before  us  the  water  spouted  up,  foaming,  then  suddenly  disap- 
peared, the  broken  line  of  the  river  again  becoming  visible  through 
the  white  vapor,  winding  between  green  banks  in  a  distant  meadow. 
On  our  right,  th(?  bank  opposite  the  hill  presented  only  a  narrow,  slop- 
ing margin  of  the  meadow,  beyond  which  the  wooded  hills  looked  like 
a  fringe  of  dark  velvet. 

*  In  the  woods  of  Cadondal. — Mobbihan. 


52  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

"  We  will  land  here/'  said  the  young  girl.  And  while  Alain  made 
the  boat  fast  to  a  vfillow,  she  sprang  lightly  ashore. 

"Well;  Sir,  you  do  not  find  this  bad?  You  are  not  confounded, 
petrified,  thunderstruck  ?  It  is  said  this  place  is  very  pretty.  I  like 
it  because  it  is  always  fresh  ;  but  follow  me  into  these  woods — if  you 
dare — and  I  will  show  you  thçse  famous  stones." 

Marguerite,  lively,  alert,  and  gay,  crossed  the  meadow  with  two 
bounds  and  took  apath  which  penetrated  into  the  forest.  Alain  and  I 
followed  in  Indian  file.  After  a  rapid  walk  of  some  mioutes,  our  con- 
ductress stopped,  appeared  to  deliberate  and  consider  where  she  was  ; 
then  separating  two  closely-tangled  branches;  she  quitted  the  path  and 
dashed  into  the  close  coppice. 

The  walk  became  less  agreeable.  It  was  very  difiicult  to  force  a 
passage  through  the  vigorous  young  oaks,  with  their  oblique  trurfks 
and  thick  branches,  crossed  and  twisted  together  like  Robinson  Crusoe's 
palisades.  Alain  and  I,  at  least,  advanced  with  great  difiiculty,  bent 
nearly  double,  knocking  our  heads  at  every  step,  and  with  each  heavy 
movement  shaking  down  upon  ourselves  a  shower  of  dew  ;  but  Mar- 
guerite, with  the  superior  address,  and  the  cat-like  supleness  of  her 
sex,  glided,  without  any  apparent  effort,  through  the  interstices  of  this 
labyrinth,  laughing  at  our  sufferings,  and  carelessly  allowing  the  flexi- 
ble branches  to  unbend  behind  her,  hitting  our  faces,  sometimes  not 
very  gently. 

We  at  length  reached  a  small  opening  which  seemed  to  crown  the 
summit  of  this  hill;  there  I  saw,  not  without  emotion,  the  monstrous 
stone  table,  sustained  by  five  or  six  enormous  blocks,  wbich  are  half 
sunk  in  the  earth,  forming  thus  a  cavern,  full  of  a  sacred  horror. 
There  was,  at  the  first  sight  of  this  intact  monument  of  an  almost  fabu- 
lous time,  and  of  a  primitive  religion,  a  power  of  truth,  a  sort  of  real 
presence,  which  seized  upon  the  soul,  making  one  shudder.  Some  rays 
of  sunlight,  penetrating  the  foliage,  filtered  through  the  disjointed 
layers  of  stone,,  play e'd  upon  the  sinister  slab,  and  lent  an  idyllic  grace 
to  this  barbaric  altar.  Marguerite  seemed  pensive  and  abstracted.  For 
myself,  after  having  penetrated  into  the  cavern  and  examined  the  dol- 
men,under  all  its  aspects,  t  began  to  sketch  it, 

I  had  been  so  absorbed  in  this  occupation  for  some  minutes  as  to  ob- 
serve nothing  of  what  passed  around  me,  when  she  suddenly  said  : 
"  Would  you  like  a  Velleda  to  give  animation  to  the  picture»!"  I  looked 
up  ;  she  had  wound  an  oak  wreath  round  her  head,  and  was  standing  at 
the  head  of  the  dolmen,  leaning  lightly  against  a  group  of  young 
trees  ;  under  the  dfm  light  of  the  foliage,  her  white  dress  had  the 
brilliancy  of  marble,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  a  strange  fire  in  the 
shadow  thrown  by  her  crown.  She  was  beautiful,  and  I  believe  she 
knew  it.  I  gazed  jit  her  without  knowing  what  to  say,  when  she 
resumed  :  "  If  I  annoy  you  I  will  go  away." 
"  No,  no,  I  beg  you  to  stay." 

"  Well  !  make  haste  ;  draw  Mervyn  also  ;  he  shall  be  the  Druid,  and 
I  the  Druidess.'^ 

I  had  the  good  fortune  to  reproduce  with  tolerable  fidelity,  thanks  to 
the  vagueness  of  a  sketch,  the  poetic  vision  with  which  I  was  favored. 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  3fan.  53 

She  came  with  an  appearance  of  eagerness  to  examine  my  drawing. 
"It  is  not  bad,"  said  she.'  Then  she  threw  away  her  wreath,  as  she 
laughingly  said  ;  "  Confess  that  I  am  good  !" 

I  acknowledged  she  was  so  ;  I  would  even  have  avowed,  had  she 
desired  it,  that  she  did  not  lack  a  grain  of  coquetry;  but  she  would 
not  be  a  woman  without  that,  and  perfection  is  hateful  :  goddesses 
themselves  need,  in  order  to  be  loved,  something  more  than  their  im- 
mortal beauty. 

We  crossed  through  the  inextricable  copse,  and,  regaining  the  path 
in  the  forest,  descended  toward  the  river. 

"  Before  we  return,"  said  Marguerite,  "  I  wish  to  show  you  the 
waterfall,  and  all  the  more  because  I  count  on  giving  myself  a  little 
amusement  in  my  turn.  Come,  Mervyn  !  Come,  my  good  dog  !  thou 
art  a  fine  fellow  ?" 

We  soon  found  ourselves  on  the  steep  bank,  in  front  of  the , 

which  closed  the  bed  of  the  river.  The  water  fell  from^the  height  of 
several  feet  into  a  large,  deep,  round  basin,  that  seemed  to  be  bounded 
.on  all  sides  by  an  amphitheatre  of  green  grass,  interspersed  with  rocks. 
Some  invisible  rivulets  served*  as  outlets  for  the  little  lake,  reuniting  at 
a  short'distancç  and  forming  the  river. 

"This  is  not  exactly  a  Niagara,"  said -she,  elevating  her  voice  above 
the  noise  of  the  watesfall  ;  "  but  I  have  heard  it  said  by  connoisseurs, 
by  artists,  that  it  is  nevertheless  very  pretty.  Have  you  admired  it 
enough  ?  Well  !  now  I  hope  you  will  bestow  on  Mervyn  whatever 
enthusiasm  stiirremains.     Uere,  Mervyn  !" 

The  Newfoundland  came  to  his  mistress's  side,  and  looked  at  her, 
trembling  with  impatience.  The  young  girl  first  tied  up  some  pebbres 
in  her  handkerchief,  then  threw  it  into  the  water  a  little  above  the 
fall  ;  at  the  same  instant  Mervyn  dropped  like  a  block  into  the  basin, 
and  swam  rapidly  from  the  shore  ;  the  handkerchief  was  carried  along 
by  the  current;» it  reached  the  cascade,  danced  an  instant  in  an  eddy, 
then  shooting  like  an  arrow  over  the  rounded  rock,  il  came  whirling  in 
a  wave  of  foam  under  the  very  eyes  of  the  dog;  he  seized  it,- and 
proudly  regained  the  bank,  where  Miss  Marguerite  stood  clapping  her 
hands. 

This  charming  exercise  was  repeated  several  times  with  ^he  same 
success,  but  oh  the  sixth  trial  it  happened  that  either  Mervyn  started 
too  late,  or  the  handkerchief  was  thrown  too  soon,  for  the  poor  dog 
missed  it  as  it  passed  him.  The  handkerchief  was  carried  by  the 
eddies  of  the  cascade  into  a  thicket  of  brambles  which  showed  them- 
selves just  above  the  water's  edge.  Mervyn  went  to  fetch  it  ;  we  were 
surprised  to  see  him  suddenly  drop  his  prey,  struggling  convulsively 
and  raise  his  head  towards  us,  uttering  most  pitiful  cries.  "  Oh  !  what 
has  happened  ?"  cried  Marguerite. 

"  I  believe  he  is  caught  in  those  brambles  ;  but  he  will  easily  free 
himself,  do  not  fear."  * 

Soon,  however,  we  began  to  fear,  then  to  despair.  The  network  of 
vines  in  which  the  unfortunate  Newfoundland  was  caught,  as  in  a  snare, 
was  directly  below  the  mouth  of  one  of  the  outlets  of  the  lake,  and  a 
ceaseless  whirling  stream  fell  on  poor  Mervyn's  head.     He  was  half 


5  i  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

suffocated,  and  had  ceased  to  make  the  least  effort  to  b^-eak  his  bonds, 
and  his  plaintive  barking  had  a  rattling  sound.  At  this  moment  Mar- 
guerite seized  my  arm  and  almost  whispered  in- my  ear  :  "  He  is  lost  ! 
Come,  six-,  let  us  go  away."  I  looked  at  her.  Grief  and  anguish  con- 
vulsed h(?r  pale  face,  drawing  a  livid  circle  beneath  her  eyes. 

"There  is  no  way,"  said  I,  '"'of  bringing  the  boat  down  here;  but  I 
can  swim,  and  if  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  go  and  lend  a  paw  to  the 
poor  fellow." 

"No,  no,  do  not  attempt  it — it  is  very  far  from  here — and  besides,  I 
'  have  always  heard  the  river  was  deep  and  dangerous  below  the  falK" 

"Be  tranquil;  I  am  prudent."  As  I  spoke,  I  threw  my  jacket  on 
the  grass,  and  plunged  into  the  lake,  taking  care  to  keep  a  certain  dis- 
tance from  the  fall.  The  water  was  really  very  deep,  for  I  did  not 
touch  bottom  till  the  moment  I  reached  the  suffering  dog.  I  do  not 
know  whether  there  had  formerly  been  a  little  island  here  which  had 
been  gradually  washed  away,  or  if  the  river  had  deposited  here  some 
fragment  of  tHe  high  bank,  but  certainly  a  thick  tangle  of  brambles 
and  roots  were  concealed  and  growing  under  the  perfidious  water.  I 
placed  my  feet  on  one  of  the  stumps  from  which  they  seemed  to  grow, 
and  succeeded  in  freeing  Mervyn  ;  as  soon  as  he  was  master  jof  his 
movements,  he  swam  without  .delay  toward  the  bank,  aloandoning  me 
with  all  his  heart.  This  trait  was  not  in  conformity  with  the  chival- 
rous reputation  enjoyed  by  his  spacies;  but  the  good  Mervyn  had 
always  lived  among  men,  and  I  suppose  he  had  become  a  philoso- 
pher. 

When  I  attempted  to  take  a, leap  in  order  to  follow  him,  I  found 
with  vexation  that  I  was  caught  in  my  turn  in  the  net  of  the  jealous 
and  wicked  Naiad,  who  apparently  reigns  in  this  latitude.  One  of  my 
legs  was  entangled  in  knots  of  the  vines,  which  I  vainly  tried  to  break. 
One  is  not  sufficiently  tt  ease  in  deep  water,  and  on  a  slimy  bottom,  to 
employ  all  one's  strength  ;  I  was,  besides,  half  blinded  ^y  the  spray  of 
the  dashing,  foaming  water.  In  short,  I  felt  that  my  situation  became, 
more  and  more  critical.  I  looked  up  at  the  bank  :  Marguerite  was 
clinging  to  Alain's  arm,  and  bending  over  the  whirlpool,  watching  me 
with  a  look  of  mortal  anxiety.  I  said  to  myself,  that  perhaps  nothing- 
more  remained  for  me  in  the  world  but  to  be  wept  by  those  beautiful 
eyes  to  give  an  enviable  termination  to  a  worthless  life.  But  I  shook  off 
those  weak  thoughts  ;  with  a  violent  effort  I  disengaged  myself,  and 
tying  the  little  tattered  handkerchief  around  my  neck,  swam  easily  to  the 
shore. 

As  I  reached  the  bank,  Marguerite  held  out  her  hand;  it  trembled 
violently  in  mine.  "What  madness!"  said  she;  "what  madness! 
You  might  have  died  there  ! — and  for  a  dog  !"  "  It  wa.s  yours,"  I 
replied  to  her,  in. the  same  low  tone  that  she  had  used.  This  seemed 
to  annoy  her  ;  she  withdrew  her  hand  quickly  from  mine,  and  turning 
to  Mervyn,  drying  himself  in  the  sun,  bega»  to  caress  him  :  "  Oh,  the 
simpleton!  the  great  simpleton  !"  said  she;  "  what  a  stupid  fellow  !" 

The  water  ran  off  me  down  upon  the  grass  in  streams  as  if  out  of  a 
watering-pot,  and  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  myself,  when  Mar- 
guerite said  with  great  sweetness  :  "  Maximilian,  take  the  boat  and  go 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  55 

home  quickly  ;  the  rowing  will  warm  you  a  little.  I  will  return  through 
the  forest  with  Alain  ;  the  road  is  much  shorter  than  the  river." 

This  arrangement  seeming  to  mc  the  fittest  in  all  respects,.!  did  not 
object  to  it.  I  bowed,  and  had  for  the  second  time  the  pleasure  of 
touching  the  hand  of  Mervyn's  mistress,  before  stepping  into  the  boat. 

On  making  my  toilet  after  reaching  homk  I  was  surprised  to  find 
the  little  torn  handkerchief  round  my  neck  Ahich  I  had  entirely  for- 


gotten to  return  to  her.     She  certainly  belicWd  it  to  be  lost,  and  I  had 
no  scruples  in  retaining  it  as  the  price  of  my  wet  journey. 

I  "went  to  the  chateau  that  evening;  Miss  Laroque  received  me  witb 
the  air  of  haughty  indolence,  of  grave  abstraction,  and  of  bitter  ennui, 
which  is  habitual  to  her,  and  which  formed  a  singular  contrast  to  the 
graceful  good  nature  and  agreeable  vivacity  of  my  morning  companion. 
During  the  dinner,  at  which  Mr.  de  Bevallan  was  present,  she  spoke  of 
our  excursion  as  if  to  deprive  it  of  all  appearance  of  mystery  ;  she 
flung  some  sharp  jests  at  all  lovers  of  nature,  and  finished  by  recount- 
Mervyn's  misadventure,  but  suppressed  my  share  in  this  last  episode. 
If  this  reservation  were  intended,  as  I  believe  it  was,  to  give  the  tone 
to  my  own  discretion,  the  young  lady  took  very  needless  trouble.  Let 
it  be  as  it  might,  when  the  recital  was  ended,  Mr.  de  Bevallan  deafened 
us  by  his  exclamations  of  despair.  "  What  !  Miss  Marguerite  had 
suffered  such  prolonged  anxiety,  the  brave  Me»vyn  had  incurred  such, 
peril,  and  he,  Bevallan,  was  not  there  !  He  could  never  console  him- 
self, there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  hang  himself  like  Crillon  !" 

"  Well  !  if  there  were  nobody  but  me  to  take  him  down,"  said  old 
Alain  to  me,  as  he  lighted  me  home  that  night,  ''  I  should  not  worry 
about  it." 

Yesterday  did  not  commence  as  gaily  for  me  as  the  preceding  day. 
I  received  a  letter  from  Madrid  early  in  the  morning  commissioning 
me  to  announce  to  Miss  Porhoct  the  definite  loss  of  her  suit.  The 
agent  informed  me,  moreover,  that  the  family,  who  were  defendants  in 
the  cause,  would  not  profit  by  their  present  triumph,  for  they  now  found 
themselves  involved  in  a  suit  with  the  government,  whose  attention  Ifad 
been  roused  by  the  noise  made  about  these  millions,  and  which  main- 
tained that  the  estate  in  litigation  belonged  to  the  Crown  by  escheatage. 
After  reflecting  a  long  time,  it  seemed  to  me  an  act  of  charity  to  con- 
ceal from  my  old  friend  the  utter  ruin  of  her  hopes.  I  would  make 
ber  Spanish  agent  an  accomplice  in  my  designs  ;  he  should  invent  pre- 
texts for  new  delays;  on  my  side,  I  would  pursue  my  researches  in  her 
archives,  and  I  would  do  all  that  lay  in  ray  power  to  have  the  poor 
woman  continue,  to  her  last  hour,  to  cherish  her  dear  illusions.  But 
however  legitimate  tltc  character  of  tlife  deception  might  be,  I  felt  a 
desire  to  have  it  sanctioned  by  some  tender  conscience. 

•  I  went  to  the  chateau  in  the  afternoon  and  made  my  confession  to 
i\Trs.  Laroque;  she  approved  of  my  plan,  and  praised  me  even  more 
than  the  occasion  seemed  to  me  to  require.  It  was  with  great  surprise 
that  I  heard  her  clo.sc  our  conversation  by  these  words  :  "  This  is  a 
proper  time  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  I  am  deeply  grateful  for  your  solicitude 
for  our  welfare  ;  and  each  day  I  have  more  pleasure  in  your  company, 
more  regard  for  you.     I  could  wish,  sir — I  beg  your  pardon,  for  you 


66      '       •  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

can  hardly  share  this  wish'^ — I  could  wish  that  we  might  never  be  sepa- 
rated. I  humbly  pray  heaven  to  perform  all  the  miracles  essential  to 
gain  this  end — for  I  do  not  hide  from  myself  that  miracles  would  be 
necessary." 

I  could  not  seize  the  precise  meaning  of  this  language  any  more  than 
I  could  explain  to  myself  the  sudden  emotion  which  shone  in  this  ex- 
cellent woman's  eyes.  I  thanked  her  very  properly,  and  went  across 
the  fields  to  dissipate  my  sadness  by  walking. 

Accident — about  which  there  was  nothing  strange,  I  frankly  confess 
— led  me,  after  an  hour's  walk,  into  the  retired  valley,  upon  the  bor- 
ders of  the  basin  which  had  been  the  theatre  of  my  late  exploits.  The 
amphitheatre  of  foliage  and  the  rocks  surrounding  the  little  lake  realize 
one's  ideal  of  solitude.  One  can  fancy  himself  at  the  end  of  the  world, 
in  a  virgin  country,  in  China,  or  wherever  he  wishes.  I  stretched  my- 
self upon  the  heather,  and  lived  over  again,  in  imagination,  all  the  events 
of  the  preceding  dayj  such  a  day  as  never  comes  twice  in  the  course  of 
the  longest  life.  I  already  felt  that  a  like  day  of  happiness,  if  it  were 
offered  to  me  a  second  time,  would  not  possess  for  me  the  same  charm 
of  serenity  and,  to  speak  the  word,  of  innocence.  I  needed  to  tell  my- 
^If  that  this  sweet,  youthful  romance  couW  have  but  one  chapter,  one 
page  even,  and  I  had  read  it.  Yes,  this  hour,  this  hour  of  love,  to  call 
it  by  its  right  name,  had^been  supremely  sweet,  because  it  had  not  been 
premeditated,  because  I  had  tasted  its  intoxication  without  being  con- 
scious of  it!  Now  my  conscience  was  awakened;  I  saw  myself  *n  the 
verge  of  an  impossible,  ridiculous  love^-worse  than  that — a  guilty 
love  !  It  was  time  to  watoh  over  myself,  poor  disinherited  man  that  I 
am. 

I  was  giving  myself  these  counsels  in  this  solitary  place — it  had  cer- 
tainly not  been  very  essential  to  come  here  to  do  it — when  a  murmuring 
of  voices  suddenly  roused  me  from  my  abstraction.  I  partly  rose,  and 
saw  advancing  toward  me  a  party  of  five  or  six  persons,  who  had  co;ne 
here  by  boat.     First  came  Marguerite  leaning  on  de  Bevallan's  arm, 

•  then.Helouin  and  Mrs.  Aubry,  followed  by  Alain  and  Mervyn-  The 
noise  of  their  approach  had  been  covered  by  the  rumbling  of  the  wa- 
terfall; they  were  scarcely  three  steps  from  me,  and  I  had  no  time  to 
retreat,  but  had  to  bear  the  disagreeableness  of  being  surprised  in  my 
reclining  attitude!  My  presence  in  this  place  excited  no  particular 
attention  :  only  I  fancied  I  saw  a  shade  of  displeasure  pass  over  Mar- 
guerite's face,  and  she  returned  my  salutation  with  marked  stiffness. 

Mr.  de  Bevallan  placed  himself,  on  the  edge  of  the  basin,  and  wea- 
ried the  echoes  for  some  time  with  the  stupid  outbursts  of  his  admira- 
tion :  "Delicious!  picturesque!  h4)w  delightful  !  the  pen  of  George 
Sand  !  the  pencil  of  Salvator  Rosa  !" — accompanying  it  all  with  the 
most  energetic  gestures.  At  length  he  grew  calm,  and  begged  to  be 
slioWn  the  place  where  Mervyn  so  nearly  perished.  Marguerite  re- 
counted anew  the  adventure,  observing,  however,  the  same  silence 
respecting  my  part  in  it.     She  even  insisted  with  a  sort  of  hard-heart- 

•  edness  on  the  bravery  aqd  presence  of  mind  displayed  by  her  dog,  ac- 
cording to  her  report,  on  that  occasion.     She  apparently  supposed  that 

,   her  short-lived  kindnesS;  and  the  service  I  had  had  the  good  fortune  to 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  57 

render  lier,  had  filled  my  brain  with  fancies  wliich  it  was  necessary  to 
check. 

Mrs.  Aubry  and  Helouin  manifested  so  lively  a  desire  to  see  Mervyn 
repeat  his  boasted  performances  before  them,  that  Marguerite  called 
the  Newfoundland,  and  threw  her  handkerchief  into  the  water  as  on 
the  preceding  day  ;  but  at  this  signal,  the  brave  Mervyn,  in  place  of  jump- 
ing into  the  lake,  ran  along  the  «edge  of  the  bank,  coming  and  going 
with  a  distracted  air,  barking  furiously,  wagging  his  tail,  j5;iving  indeed 
a  thousand  proofs  of  a  lively  interest,  but  also  of  an  excellent  memory. 
^Ilcason  decidedly  governs  the  heart  of  this  animal.  It  was  in  vain  that 
Marguerite,  angry  and  confused,  employed  caresses  and  menaces  by 
turns  to  subdue  the  obstinacy  of  her  favorite  ;  nothing  could  persuade 
the  intelligent  beast  to  trust  anew  his  precious  body  to  these  redoubta- 
ble waters.  After  such  pompous  announcements  the  willful  prudence 
of  the  intrepid  Mervyn  had  something  really  comical  in  it";  I  had,  as  I 
thought,  a  better  right  than  any  one  to  laugh  at  it,  and  I  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  do  so.  The  laughter  soon  became  general,  and  Marguerite  ended 
by  joining  feebly  in  it  herself 

"  With  all  that,"  said  she,  "  there  is  another  handkerchief  lost." 

The  handkerchief,  drawn  by  the  constant  movement  of  the  eddies, 
had  naturally  been  caught  by  the  fatal  brambles,  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  opposite  bank. 

"  Trust  to  me.  Miss,"  cried  Mr.  de  Bevallan  ;  "  in  ten  minutes  you 
shall  have  your  handkerchief,  or  I  shall  be  no  more."  « 

On  hearing  this  declaration,  Marguerite  stealthily  §ave  me  an  ex- 
pressive glance,  as  if  to  say-—''  You  see  thgt  devotion  to  me  is  not  so 
rare!"     Then  she  said  to  de  Bevallan;  *' For  God's  sake,  do  not  be 
foolish  !  the  water  is  very  deep — there  is  real  danger." 
.  "  That  is  all  the  same  to  me,"  replied  he.  *'  Alain,  have  you  a  knife  ?" 

"  A  knife  ?"  repeated  Marguerite  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  Yes.     Let  me  alone — let  me  alone." 

"  But  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  a  knife  ?" 

"  I  intend  to  cut  a  long  pôle,"  said  Mr.  de  Bevallan. 
^  The  young  girl  looked  at  him.  *  "  I  thought,"  she  murmured,  <'  that 
you  were  going  to  swim." 

"  Oh  !  to  swim  !"  said  he,  "  excuse  me,  Miss — in  the  first  place  I 
am  not  in  swimming  costume  ;  then,  I  confess,  I  do  not  know  how  to 
swim." 

"  If  you  do  not  know  how  to  swim,"  she  replied,  in  a  dry  tone,  "  it 
matters  very  little  whether  you  ar«in  swimming  costume  or  not  I" 

"  That  is  perfectly  true,"  said  he  with  amusing  tranquillity;  "but 
you  are  not  particularly  desirous  to  have  me  drown,  I  .suppose  !.  You 
want  your  handkerchief;  the  moment  I  return  with  that  you  will  be 
satisfied,  will  you  not  ?" 

^\  Well  !  go,"  said  Marguerite,  seating  herself  resignedly;  "go  and 
cut  your  pole,  sir. 

Mr.  do  Bevailan,  who  is  not  easily  disconcerted,  disappeared  in  a 
neighboring  thicket,  where, wc  soon  heard  him  breaking  off  branches; 
then  he  returned,  armed  with  the  long  stem  of  a  hazelnut  tree,  from 
which  he  stripped  the  leaves. 


58  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

"  Do  you  count  on  reacliing  the  other  bank  with  that  fetick  ?"  asked 
Marguerite,  whose  sense  of  the  ridiculous  began  to  be  awakened. 

"  Leave  me  alone — leaYe  me  alone  !  my  angel  !"  replied  the  imper- 
turbable gentleman. 

They  left  him  alone.  He  finished  preparing hisstick,  after  which  he 
went  toward  the  boat.  We  then  understood  that  his  design  was  to  cross 
the  river  in  the  boat  above  the  fall,  and  once  on  the  other  side,  to  har- 
poon the  handkerchief,  which  was  not  far  from  the  shore,  .'^t  this 
discovery,  there  was  a  universal  cry  of  indignation  from  the  spectators; 
the  ladies  in  general  loving,  as  every  one  knows,  dangerous  undertak- 
ings— for  others.  , 

'*That  is  a  fine  contrivance  indeed  !     Fy  !  Fy  !  Mr.  de  Bevallan  !" 

"  Ta  !  Ta  !  Ta  !  Ladies.  It  is  like  Christopher  Columbus  and  his  Q^g. 
One  must  be  careful  of  oneself." 

However,  contrary  to  all  expectation,  this  expedition,  apparently  so 
safe,  did  not  terminate  without  trouble,  and  even  danger.  Mr.  de  Be- 
vallan, in -place  of  crossing  the  river  directly  opposite  to  the  little  creek, 
where  the  boat  was  fastened,  had  the  fatal  idea  to  descend  to  a  point 
nearer  the  waterfall.  He  pushed  the  boat  into  the  middle  of  the  cur- 
rent, where  he  allowed  it  to  drive  for  a  moment,  but  he  soon  perceived 
that  in  the  vicinity  of  the  cataract,  the  river  rushed  on  its  course  with 
startling  rapidity.  We  had  a  revelation  of  his  danger  on,  seeing  him 
head  the  boat  across  the  stream,  and  begin  to  row  with  feverish  energy. 
He  struggled  against  the  current  for  some  seconds  with  very  uncertain 
success.  However,  he  approached,  little  by  little,  the  .opposite  shore, 
though  the  drift  continued  to  hurry  him  with  frighful  impetuosity  to- 
ward the  cataract,  the  menacing  sounds  of  which  filled  his  ears.  He 
was  only  a  few  feet  from  it,  when  a  mighty  efibrt  carried  him  near 
enough  to  the  shore  to  secure  his  safety.  He  took  a  vigorous  leap  and 
reached  the  bank,  unintentionally  pushing  away  with  his  foot  the  abfin- 
doncd  boat,  which  was  soon  precipitated  over  the  fall,  and  came  floating 
in  the  basin  with  its  keel  in  the  air. 

While  the  danger  lasted,  we  had  no  other  feeling  than  that  of  keen 
anxiety  ;  but  we  were  no  sooner  relieved  from  all  fear,  than  we  were 
struck  with  the  contrast  ofi"ered  by  the  issue  of  the  adventure,  and  the 
aplomb  and  extraordinary  assurance  of  him  who  was  its  hero.  Thers 
was  no  one  among  us  who  did  not  yield  to  the  merriest  laughter  as  soon 
as  we  saw  de  Bevallan  out  of  the  boat;  but  at  that  very  moment  his 
misfortunes  were  completed  in  the  most  mortifying  manner.  The  shore 
upon  which  he  leaped  was  steep  and  Wet,  and  he  had  no  sooner  touched 
the  ground  than  ha  slipped,  and  fell  backward  ;  some  boughs  were 
luckily  near,  which  he  seized  with  both  hands  with  a  sort  of  frenzy, 
while  his  legs  tossed  about  like  oars,  in  the  shallow  watei:,  which  here 
washed  the  shore.  All  shadow  of  danger  having  disappeared,  this 
struggle  was  purely  ridi(îulous,  and  I  suppose  this  cruel  thought  caused 
him  to  exert  himself  with  an  awkward  haste  which  only  retarded  his 
success.  He  succeeded,  howevier,  in  regaining  his  footing  on  the  slope  ; 
then  suddenly  we  saw  him  slip  again,  tearing  the  bushes  on  his  way 
into  the  water,  after  which  he  recommenced,  with  evident  despair,  his 
unruly  pantomime.     This  was  really  more  than  one  could  bear.     I  be- 


• 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  59 

lieve  Marguerite  had  never  witnessed  such  an  entertainment  before. 
She  lost  all  thought  of  her  digHit}"^,  and  like  a  nymph  intoxicated  with 
grapes,  she  filled  the  grove  with  the  sounds  of  her  convulsive  laughter. 
She  clapped  her  hands,  crying,  half  choked,  "Bravo!  Bravo!  dc  Be- 
vallan  !  Very  pretty  !  delicious  !  picturesque  !  Salvator  Rosa  !" 

Mr.  de  Bevallan  managed,  however,  to  hoist  himself  up  to  the  firm 
ground;  he  then  turned  toward  the  ladies,  and  addressed  them  in  a 
speech  which  the  noise  of  the  waterfall  prevented  us  from  hearing  dis- 
tinctly ;  but  we  understood  by  his  animated  gestures,  by  the  descriptive 
motions  of 'his  arms,  and  the  smiling  expression  of  his  face,  that  he 
gave  us  an  apologetic  explanation  ot  his  disaster. 

"  Yes,  Sir,  yes,"  replied  Marguerite,  with  the  implacable  cruelty 
of  a  woman,  "it  was  a  fine  success  !  a  very  fine  success  !     Be  happy  !" 

When  she  had  become  a  little  serious,  she  questioned  me  upon  the 
means  of  recovering  the  wrecked  boat,  which,  by  the- way,  is  the  best 
of  our  flotilla.  I  promised  to  return  the  next  day  with  the  workmen, 
and  preside  over  its  salvage;  then  we  gaily  took  our  way  across  the 
meadows,  in  the  direction  of  thQ  chateau,  while  de  Bevallan,  not  being 
in  swimming  costume,  was  unable  to  rejoin  us,  and  disappeared,  with  a 
melancholy  air,  behind  the  rocks  on  the  other  bank  of  the  river. 


AwjxiRt  20. 

At  length,  this  extraordinary  soul  has  betrayed  to  me  the  secret  of 
its  storms.     I  would  that  she  ha^  guarded  it  foJhrer  ! 

For  days  after  the  last  scenes  that  I  have  rôSounted,  Miss  Margue- 
rite, as  if  ashamed  of  having  yielded  for  an  instant  to  the  impulses  of 
youth  and  gaiety,  withdrew  behind  a  thicker  veil  than  ever  of  melan- 
choly stateliness,  of  distrust,  and  disdain.  She  glided,  like  a  shadojv, 
amidst  the  noisy  amusements,  the  fêtes,  and  dances,  which  succeeded 
each  other  at  the  chateau,  cold,  indifi'crent,  and  sometimes  irritable. 
Her  irony  attacked,  with  inconceivable  bitterness,  whatever  came  in 
"her  way;  sometimes  it  was  purest  mental  pleasures,  sometimes  that 
which  inspires  contemplatior^and  study,  sometimes  even  the  noblest  and 
most  inviolable  sentiments  of  the  soul.  .  If  one  cited  any  instance  of 
courage  or  goodness  before  tier,  she  would  examine  it,  on  all  sides,  to 
find  the  presence  of  egotism  and  selfishness;  if  one  had  the  misfortune 
to  light,  in  her  presence,  the  smallest  grain  of  incense  on  the  altar  of 
art,  she  would  extinguish  it  with  a  wave  of  her  hand.  Her  short, 
abrupt,  formidable  laughter,  sounded  on  her  lips,  like  the  mockery  of  a 
■fallen  angel,  eager  to  wither  everywhere  she  saw  a  trace  of  them,  the 
most  generous  faculties  of  the  human  soul.  This  strange  spirit  of  re- 
viling, took,  I  remarked,  the  character  of  special  persecution  toward 
me,  of  real  hostility.  I  did  not  understand  then,  nor  do  I  yet  compre- 
hend, how  I  had  merited  these  particular  attentions,  for  though  it  is 
true  that  I  cherish  in  my  heart  a  firm  faith  in  spiritual  and  immortal 
things,  and  that  death  alone  can  wrest  it  from  me  (great  God,  what 
would  be  left  me,  if  I  had  not  that  !)  I  am  in  no  wise  given  to  exta- 
sies in  public,  and  my  admiration,' like  my  love,  will  never  be  trouble- 


60  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

some  to  any  one.  But  though  I  had  observed  more  scrupulously  than 
ever  that  kind  of  shame-facedness  befitting  true  sensibility,  I  gained 
nothing  by  it  :  I  was  suspected  of  being  poetic,  and  romantic  fancies 
vrere  ascribed  to  me,  in  order  to  have  the  pleasure  of  quarreling  with 
them. 

Although  this  open  warfare  with  every  thing  more  elevated  than  the 
practical  interests,  and  hard  realities  of  life,  was  not  a  new  trait  in 
Marguerite's  character,  it  was  now  aggravated  and  envenomed  to  a  de- 
gree which  wounded  those  most  attached  to  her.  One  day,  Miss  de 
Porhoet,  tired  of  this  incessant  mockery,  said  to  her  in  my  pfesence  : 

*'  My  darling,  there  has  been  in  you,  for  some  time  past,  a  devil, 
which  you  will  do  well  to  exorcise  as  soon  as  possible;  otherwise,  I 
warn  you  that  you  will  end  by  forming  a  trio  with  Mrs.  Aubry  and  Mrs. 
de  Saint  Cast.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  never  prided  myself  on  being 
a  very  romantic  person,  but  I  love  to  think  that  there  are  still  in  thB 
world  souls  who  are  capable  of  generous  sentiments;  I  believe  in  dis- 
interestedness, for  I  have  seen  it  displayed  to  myself;  I  believe  also  in 
heroism,  for  I  have  known  heroes.  Besides,  I  love  to  hear  the  little 
birds  sing  in  my  elm-tree,  and  to  build  ray  cathedral  in  the  passing 
clouds.  All  this  appears  very  ridiculous  to  you;  but  I  will  venture  to 
remind  you  that  these  illusions  are  the  treasures  of  the  poor,  that  Mr. 
Odiot  and  I  have  no  others,  and  that  we  have  the  singularity  not  to 
bemoan  our  poverty."         • 

Another  day,  when  I  had  borne,  with  my  ordinary  impassibility,  the 
hardly  disguised  sarcasms  of  Marguerite,  her  mother  took  rue  aside  : 
''  Maximilian,"  said  sljA^"  my  daughter  vexes  you  ;  I  pray  you  to  for- 
give her.  You  must  KiP^e  remarked  that  her  character  has  been  chan- 
ged for  some  time." 

"  Your  daughter  seems  more  preoccupied  and  variable  than  formerly." 

"  That  is  not  strange;  she  is  on  the  point  of  deciding  a  very  impor- 
tant question,  and  at  such  a  time,  young  persons  are  often  betrayed  into 
foolish  gusts  of  temper." 

I  bowed  without  replying. 

"  You  are  now,"  resumed  Mrs.  Laroque,  "  a  friend  of  the  family  ;  "as 
such,  I  should  be  much  obliged  by  your  telling  me  what  you  think  of 
Mr.  de  Bevallan." 

"  Mr.  de  Bevallan,  madame,  has,  I  believe,  a  very  fine  fortune — a 
little  smaller  than  yours — but  very -fine  nevertheless,  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  annual  income." 

"Yes,  but  what  is  your  judgment  of  his  person,  his  character  ?" 

"  Madame,  Mr.  de  Bevallan  is  whlit  is  called  a  very  handsome  man  ; 
he  does  not  lack  mind  ;  he  passes  for  an  accomplished  *  gentleman.'  " 

"  But  do  you  think  he  will  render  my  daughter  happy  V' 

"  I  do  not  think  he  will  render  her  unhappy.  He  has  not  a  bad 
heart." 

''  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  He  does  not  positively  please  me, 
but  he  is  the  only  one  who  does  not  positively  displease  Marguerite— 
•and  then  there  are  so  few  men  who  have  a  hundred  thousand  francs  a 
yeark  You  understand  that  my  daughter,  in  her  position,  has  not 
lacked  suitors.     For  two  or  three  years  we  have  been  literally  besieged 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  61 

by  them.  Well  !  it  must  come  to  an  end — I  am  feeble — I  may  be 
taken  away  at  {iny  time — my  daughter  would  be  left  without  a  protec- 
tor— I  should  be  wrong  to  oppose  a  marriage  which  is  suitable,  and 
which  the  world  would  certainly  approve.  I  am  already  accused  of 
instilling  romantic  ideasnn  my  daughter's  mind — the  truth  is,  I  instill- 
nothing — she  has  a  mind  of  her  own.  Finally,  what  do  you  advise  me 
to  do  ?"     .  -  '  •        • 

"  Allow  mc  to  ask  what  is  Miss  oe  Porhoet's  opinion?  She  is  a 
person  of  excellent  judgment,,and  full  of  experience,  and  is  fully  de- 
voted to  you."  I 

"  Ah  !  if  I  believe  Miss  de  rorhoet,  I  should  send  Mr.  de  Bevallan 
far  from  here.  But  sh(f  can  talk  very  easily — if  he  were  gone,  it  would 
not'be  b«i"  who  would  marry  my  daughter  1" 

"  My  God  !  madame,  in  point  of  fortune,  Mr.  de  Bevallan  is  a  rare 
match,  it  cannot  be  denied — and  if  you  hold  s£rictly  to  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  income?" 

"  I  hold  no  more  .to  a  hundred  thousand  francs  than  a  hundred  sous, 
my  dear  sir,  but  it  does  not  concern  me,  it  concerns  my  daughter.  Well  ! 
I  cannot  give  her  to  a  mason,  can  I  ?  For  myself,  I  should  have  liked 
well  enough  to  be  a  mason's  wife  ;  but  what  would  have  made  me  hap- 
py, perhaps  wuuld  not  make  my  daughter  happy.  I  ought,  in  marrying 
her,  to  consult  generally  received  ideas,  not  my  own." 

"  Well  !  madame,  if  this  marriage  suits  you,  and  if  it  suits  your 
daughter  likewise" 

"  But  no — it  does  not  suit  me,  and  it  does  not  suit  my  daughter, 
moreover — it  is  a  marriage — it  is  a  ma  fringe  de  convenan<c,  that  is  all  ?" 

**  Am  I  to  understand  that  it  is  all  settled  ?"  ' 

"  Xo,  since  I  ask  your  advice.  If  it  were  so,  my  daughter  would  be 
more  composed.  It  is  her  hesitation,  her  indecision,  which  upsets  her, 
and  then" — 

Mrs.  Laroque  drew  back  into  the  shado.v  of  the  little  dome  which 
surmounted  her  ea.sy-chair,  and  added:  "  Have  you  any  idea  of  what 
parses  in,  that  unhappy  head?" 

"  Not  any,  madame." 

Her  bright  eye  was  fixed  on  me  for  a  moment.  She  gave  a  deep 
sigh,  and  said,  in  a  sweet,  sad  voice  :  "  Go,  sir,  I  will  detain  you  no 
longer." 

The  confidence  with  which  I  had  been  honored  caused  me  little  sur- 
prise. For  some  time  pa.st  it  had  been  clear  that  Marguerite  bestowed 
on  Mr.  de  Bevallan  all  the  sympathy  she  could  feel  for  any  human 
being.  .  But  it  seemed  to  be  the  expression  of  a  friendly  preference  far 
more  than  a  passionate  tenderness.  This  preference,  moreover,  can  be 
easily  explained.  Pe  Bevallan,  whom  I  have  never  liked,  and  whose 
caricature,  rather  than  his  portrait,  I  have  drawn  here,  in  spite  of  my- 
self, unites  most  of  those  qualities  and  those  faults,  which  usually  win 
the  favor  of  women.  Modesty  is  wholly  lacking  in  him,  but  women 
rarely  admire  it.  He  posscs-ses.  that  jesting  assurance  which  nothing 
intimidates,  and  which  secure»  to  one  endowed  with  it,  an  appearance 
of  superiority.  His  size,  his  fine  features,  his  skill  in  all  physical  ex- 
ercises, his  reputation  as  a  rider  and  hunter,  give  him  a  manly  authority 


62  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

whicli  imposes  on  the  timid  sex.  Finally,  there  was  a^pirit  of  audacity. 
of  conquest,  in  his  eye,  which  confounds  women,  and  rouses  a  secret 
warmth  in  their  hearts.  It  is  only  just  to  add,  that  such  advantages 
rarely  possess  their  full  value,  except  to  vulgar  souls  ;'  but  that  of  Mar- 
guerite, which  I  had  at  first  been  tempted  to'^lace  on  a  level  with  her 
beauty,  had  seemed  to  display,  for  some  time,  sentiments  of  a  very  infe- 
rior order, ^nd  I  believed  her  capable  of  submitting,  without  resistance, 
as  without  enthusiasm  and  with  the  passive  coldness  of  an  inert  imagi- 
nation, to  the  spell  of  this  vulgar  conqvweror,  and  the  yoke  of  a  marriage 
of  convenience.  '  5,  * 

It  was  clear,  from  all  this,  that  it  was  necessary  to  come  to  a  deter- 
mination, to  cease  to  think  of  her,  and  I  'did  it  more  easily  than  I 
should  have  believed  possible  a  month  previous,  for  I  had  exerted  all 
my  resolution  to  struggle  with  the  first  terapations  of  a  love,  which  good 
sense  and  honor  equally  condemned;  and  she,  who  had  unconsciously 
imposed  this  contest  on  me,^lso  unconsciously  aided  me  in  it.  If  she 
had  been  unable  to  conceal  her  beauty,  she  had  also  unveiled  her  heart, 
and  mine  was  half  shut  thereby.  Small  unhappiness  for  the  young 
heiress,  but  veritable  happiness  for  me  !  , 

I  made  a  journey  to  Paris, 'whither  I  was  called  by  Mrs.  Laroque's 
interests  and  my  own.  I  returned  in  two  days,  and  on  reaching  the 
chateau  I  was  told  that  Mr.  Laroque  had  asked  constantly  for  me  since 
the  morning.  I  went  at  once  to  his  room..  As  soon  as  he  saw  me,  a 
feeble  smile  appeared  on  his  M'ithered  face  ;  he  looked  at  me,  as  I 
thought,  with  an  expression  of  malignant  joy  and  secret  triumph,  and 
said,  in  his  deep,  hollow  voice  :  "  Sir  !  G-eneral  de  Saint-Cast  is  dead  !" 

This  news,  which  the  singular  old  man  was  so  anxious  to  tell  me  him- 
self, was  correct.  During  the  preceding  night  he  had  had  an  apoplec- 
tic fit,  and  in  another  hour  he  had  left  the  easy  and  delicious  life  which 
he  owed  to  Mrs.  de  Saint-Cast.  x\s  soon  as  the  event  was  known  at  the 
chateau,  Mrs.  Aubry  went  in.stantly  to  her  friend,  and  these  two  com: 
panions  had,  throughout  the  day,  as  Doctor  Desmarets  told  us,  exchan- 
ged a  whole  litany  of  original  and  pleasing  ideas  upon  death,  the  Jiapi- 
dity  of  its  strokes,  the  impossibility  of  foreseeing  or  guarding  against 
them,  the  uselessness  of  sorrow,  which  never  brought  one  back  to  life, 
and  upon  the  effect  of  Time,  that  universal  consoler.  After  which, 
seating  themselves  at  table,  they  slowly  regained  their  fortitude. 

"  Come  I  eat  riiadame  }  you  must  take  some  refreshment.  It  is  God's 
will!"  said  Mrs.  Aubry.  At  the  dessert,  Mrs.  de  Saint-Cast  ordered  a 
bottle  of  Spanish  wine  that  the  poor  general  had  been  very  fond  of,  in 
consideration  of  which,  she  begged  Mrs.  Aubry  to  taste  it.  Mrs.  Aubry 
obstinately  refused  to  taste  it  alone.  Mrs  de  Saint-Cast  allowed  her- 
self to  be  persuaded  that  it  was  God's  will  that  she  should  drink  a 
glass  of  Spanish  wine. 

Yesterday  morning,  Mrs.  Laroque  and  her  daughter,  dressed  in  deep 
mourning,  took  the  carriage,  in  which  I  also  occupied  a  seat,  and  drove 
to  the  neighboring  town,  reaching  there  -at  ten  o'clock.  While  I  was 
present  at  the  funeral  ceremonies  of  the  general,  the  ladies  joined  Mrs. 
Aubry  and  the  circle  of  condoling  friends  around  the  widow.       » 

When  the  sad  rites  were  concluded^  I  returned  to  the  house  of 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  63 

mourning,  and  was  sLown,  with  some  familiar  acquaintances,  into  the 
celebrated  saloon,  the  furniture  of  which  cost  fifteen  thousand  francs. 
I  distinpruished  in  the  dim  funeVeal  light,  on  the  sofa  that  cost  twelve 
hundred  francs,  the  shadow  of  the  inconsolable  Mrs.  de  Saint-Cast, 
enveloped  in  crape,  the  price  of  which  we  should  learn  in  time.  At 
her  side  sat  Mrs.  Aubry,  presenting  a  picture  of  the  greatest  physical 
and  moral  exhaustion.  Half  a  dozen  relatives  and  frionds  completed 
this  sad  group.  As  wc  ranged  ourselves  in  line  at  the  other  extremity 
of  the  saloon,  there  was  a  sound  of  shuffling  of  feet,  and  cracking  of 
the  floor;  then  a  dull  silence  again  reigned  in  the  apartment.  From 
time  to  time  there  came  from  the  sofa  a  lamentable  sigh,  which  Mrs. 
Aubry  repeated  like  a  faithful  echo. 

At  length  a  young  man  appeared,  who  had  been  "detained  in  the 
street  to  finish  a  cigar  that  he  had  lighted  on  leaving  the  cemetery. 
As  he  glided  discreetly  into  our  ranks,  Mrs.  de  Saint-Cast  perceived 
him.  . 

"  Is  it  you,  Arthur  ?"  said  she,  in  a  voice  hardly  louder  than  a 
whisper. 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  said  the  young  man,  advancing  in  front  of  our  line 
like  a  vidette. 

"Well!"  said  the  widow,  in  the  same  drawling,  plaintive  tone,  "is 
it  finished?"  ' 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  replied  Arthur,  who  seemed  a  very  self-satisfied  young 
man,  in  a  deliberate  voice. 

There  was  a  pause — after  which .]M l'a.  de  Saint  Cast,  drew  as  if  from. 
the  bottom  of  her  expiring  heart,  this  new  series  of  questions  :  "  Was 
it  fine?" 

"  Very  fine,  aunt,  very  fine  !" 

"  Many  people  ?" 
'    "  All  the  town,  aunt,  all  the  town." 

"  The  troop  ?" 

"  Yes,  aunt;  all  the  garrison  with  the  band." 

Mrs.  de  Saint-Cast  gave  an  audible  groan,  and  added  :  "  The  pom- 
piers also  ?" 

"  The  pompiers,  also,  aunt,  certainly." 

I  am  ignorant  of  what  this  last  detail  had  in  it  particulary  affecting 
to  Mrs.  de  Saint-Cast,  but  she  did  not  resist  its  eflect  ;  a  sudden  swoon, 
preceded  by  an  infantine  cry,  called  for  all  the  resources  of  feminine  ten- 
derness, and  gave  Mrs.  Laroque  and  her  daughter  an  opportunity  to 
■withdraw.  I  had  not  waited  for  such  an  opportunity;  it  had  been  im- 
pos.eible  for  me  to  witness  this  ridiculous  old  shrew  perform  her  hypo- 
critical mummeries  over  the  tomb  of  that  weak  but  good  and  loyal 
man,  whose  life  she  had  certainly  embittered,  and  whose  death  she  had 
probably  hastened. 

Some  minutes  later,  Mrs.  Laroqbe  proposed  to  me  to  accompany  them 
to  the  farm  of  Langoat,  situated  five  or  six  leagues  oif,  in  the  direction 
of  the  sea  coast.  She  intended  to  dine  there  with  her  daughter;  the 
fariper's  wife,  who  had  been  Marguerite's  nurse,  was  sick,  and  the  la- 
dies had  planned  for  some  time  to  show  her  this  mark  of  kindness. 


64:  Tht  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

We  set  out  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  It  was  one  of  the  hottest 
days  of  this  hot  season. 

Our  conversation  suffered  from  the  languor  of  our  spirits.  Mrs.  La- 
roque,  who  pretended  to  be  in  paradise,  a,nd  who  was  at  length,  disen- 
cumbered of  her  furs,  seemed  plunged  in  a  sweet  reverie.  Miss  Mar- 
guerite played  with  her  fan,  with  the  gravity  of  a  Spaniard.  While  we 
slowly  ascended  the  interminable  hills  of  this  country,  we  saw  crawling 
over  the  calcined  rocks  legions  of  little  lizards,  cuirassed  in  silver,  and 
heard  the  crackling  of  the  reeds  as  they  opened  their  sheaths  to  the 
sun. 

In  the  midst  of  one  of  these  laborious  ascents,  a  voice  cried  sudden- 
ly from  the  side  of  the  road  ;  "  Stop,  if  you  please." 

At  the  same  time,  a  girl  with  bare  legs,  holding  a  distaff  in  her 
hand,  and  wearing  the  antique  costume  and  ducal  head-dress  of  the 
peasantry  of  this  region,  quickly  leaped  the  ditch  ;  she  overturned  in 
her  way,  some  scared  sheep,  of  which  she  seemed  to  be  the  shepher- 
dess, and  placed  herself,  with  a  rude  grace,  upon  the  carriage  step,  pre- 
senting to  us,  in  the  frame  of  the  window  her  brown,  resolute,  and 
smiling  face.  "Excuse  me,  ladies,"  said  she,  in  the  melodious  tone 
which  characterizes  the  accent  "of  this  province,  "  will  you  do  me  the 
kindness  to  read  me  this?"  And  she  drew  from  her  bosom  a  letter 
folded  in  the  old-fashioned  style. 

"  Read,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Laroque,  to  me,  laughing,  "  and  read  it  all 
aloud,  if  it  is  proper." 

I  took  the  letter,  which  proved  to  be  a  love-letter.   It  was  addressed, 

with  great  particularity,  to  Miss  Christine  Oyadec,  of  the  town  of , 

commune  of  ,  at  the  farm  of  ■ 

It  was  written  by  an  uncultivated,  but  apparently  very  sincere  man. 
The  date  showed  that  Miss  Christine  had  received  this  missive  two  or 
three  weeks  previous  3  apparently  the  poor  girl,  not  knowing  how  to 
read,  and  not  wishing  to  betray  her  secret  to  the  malice  of  those  around 
her,  had  waited  for  some  traveller,  at  once  benevolent  and  scholarly,  to 
give  her  the  key  of  this  mystery,  which  had  burned  in  her  bosom  for 
fifteen  days  !  Her  large  blue  eye  was  fixed  on  me  with  an  air  of  inex- 
pressible content,  while  I  deciphered  the  crooked  lines  thus:  "Miss, 
this  is  to  tell  you  that  my  mind  has  not  changed  since  the  day  when 
we  talked  on  the  heath  after  vespers,  and  that  I  am  concerned  about 
you;  my  heart,  Miss,  is  wholly  yours,  as  I  hope  yours  is  mine;  and  if 
it  is  so,  you  may  be  very  sure  and'  certain,  that  there  is  not  a  living 
soul  on  earth  or  in  heaven,  happier  than  your  friend — who  does  not 
sign  himself,  but  you  well  know  who.  " 

"  Do  you  know  who.  Miss  Christine  ?"  said  I. 

"  That  may  be,"  said  she,  showing  her  white  teeth,  and  gravely 
shakingher  young  head,  illuminated  with  happiness.  " Thanks  ladies 
and  kind  sir."  She  leaped  from  the  step  and  disappeared  in  the  wood, 
from  which  rose  the  clear,  joyous  sound  of  some  Bretonnese  song. 

Mrs.  Laroque  had  followed,  with  evident  delight,  all  the  details-of 
this  pastoral  scene,  which  pleased  her  fancy;  she  smiled  on  this  girl 
with  naked  feet;  she  was  charmed.  However,  when  Miss  Oyadec  was 
out  of  sight,  a  strange  idea  presented  itself  to  Mrs.  Laroque;  it  was 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  J^an.  65 

tïiat  she  would  have  done  well  to  bestow  on  the  shepherdess  a  five  franc 
piece  as  well  as  her  admiration, 

«  Alain  !"  she  said,  "  call  her  back" 

"  What  for,  mother  V  said  Marguerite  quickly,  though  she  had  not 
hitherto  appeared  to  pay  any  attention  to  the  incident. 

"  Why,  my  child,  perhaps  this  girl  does  not  understand  perfectly  all 
the  pleasure  that  I  should  have — and  that  she  ought  to  have  herself — 
in  running  about  in  the  sand  with  bare  feet;  I  think  it  proper  at  all 
events,  to  leave  her  a  little  souvenir." 

"  Of  money!"  replied  Marguerite;  "  oh,  no,  mother,  do  not  do  that; 
do  not  mingle  money  with  her  happiness." 

The  expression  of  this  refined  feeling,  which  Christine  would  not 
have  appreciated,  from  Marguerite,  did  not  astonish  me,  for  I  thought 
she  was  jesting,  although  her  face  gave  me  no  indication  of  merriment. 
But  this  fancy,  whether  jesting  or  not,  was  taken  in  earnest  by  her 
mother,  and  it  was  decided  to  leave  the  shepherdess  to  her  innocence 
and  her  bare  feet. 

After  this,  Mrs.  Laroque,  evidently  well  satisfied  with  herself,  fell 
again  into  a  smiling  revcr}-,  and  3Iargucrite  resumed  her  play  with  her 
fan  with  increased  gravity.  An  hour  later  we  reached  the  end  of  our 
journey.  The  farm  of  Langoat,  like  most  of  the  farms  of  this  coun- 
try, where  the  hills  and  tablelands  are  covered  with  heath,  was  situated 
in  a  valley  traversed  by  a  fine  stream.  The  farmer's  wife  was  much 
better,  and  immediately  began  to  prepare  our  dinner,  the  principal  ma- 
terials for  which  we  had  taken  the  precaution  to  bring  with  us. 

It  was  seVved  on  the  natural  turf  of  the  meadow,  in  the  shade  of  an 
enormous  chestnut. 

Mrs.  Laroque,  installed  in  a  very  uncomfortable  attitude  on  the  car- 
riage cushions,  was  radiant  with  pleasure.  "  She  was  reminded,"  she 
said,  "  of  those  groups  of  reapers  which  she  saw  every  summer  sitting 
under  shelter  of  the  hedges,  and  whose  rustic  banquets  she  had  always 
remarked  with  envy." 

For  myself,  I  should,  perhaps,  have  found  in  former  days,  a  peculiar 
sweetness  in  the  close  intimacy  that  a  repast  on  the  ground,  like  all 
scenes  of  the  kind,  could  not  fail  to  establish  between  the  guests  ;  but 
now,  this  feast  of  brotherhood  was  very  bitter,  and  I  put  away  from 
me,  with  a  painful  fee^^  of  constraint,  a  spell  which  would  need  to 
be  repented  of.  Afte^mir  dinner  was  finished,  Mrs.  Laroque  said  to 
me:  "  Have  you  ever  been  up  there?"  designating  with  her  head  a 
very  high  hill  which  commanded  the  country. 

"  No,  madame." 

"  Oh  !  That  is  a  pity.  There  is  a  very  beautiful  view  there.  You 
ought  to  see  it.  While  they  are  harnessing,  Afarguerite  can  guide  you 
there,  can  you  not,  Marguerite  ?" 

"  Me,  mother  ?  1  have  never  been  there  but  once,  and  that  was  a 
long  time  ago.  No  matter,  I  can  find  the  way  easily.  Come,  sir,  and 
prepare  for  hard  climbing." 

Wc  soon  began  to  ascend  rapidly  a  little  path  which  wound  up  the 
«ide  of  the  mountain,  penetrating  here  and  there  thickets  of  trees. 
The  young  girl  stopped,  occasionally,  in  her  light  and  rapid  ascent,  to 
5 


66  The  fRomajwe  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

see  if  T  followed  her,  and  breathless  from  her  Tralk,  smiled  'withoat 
speaking.  On  reaching  the  plateau,  a  barren  heath,  I  perceived,  at 
some  distance,  a  village  church,  the  sharp  angles  of  its  small  steeple, 
clearly  defined  against  the  sky.  "There  it  is/'  said  my  conductress, 
quickening  her  steps.  Behind  the  church  was  a  graveyard,  inclosed 
by  a  high  wall.  She  opened  the  door  of  the  inclosure,  and  passing 
with  difficulty  through  the  brambles  and  high  grass,  which  encumbered 
this  resting-place  of  the  dead,  directed  her  cotsrse  toward  a  flight  of 
steps  in  the  form  of  a  semi-circle,  at  the  extremity  of  the  graveyard, 
These  steps,  disjointed  by  time,  and  singularly  ornamented  with  massive 
globes  or  spheres,  led  up  to  a  narrow  platform,  elevated  to  a  level  with 
the  wall,  and  a  granite  cross  rising  from  the  centre. 

She  had  no  sooner  reached  the  platform  and  taken  one  survey  of  the 
vast  space  opened  around  her,  than  I  saw  her  place  her  hand  obliquely 
over  her  eyes,  as  if  to  shade  them.     I  hastened  to  jain  her. 

This  beautiful  day,  now  drawing  to  a  close,  lighted  up,  with  its  final 
splendor,  a  scene  vast,  strange,  and  sublime,  which  I  shali  never  forget. 
Before  us,  and  at  a  great  distance  below  the  plateau,  there  extended,  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  a  kind  of  marsh,  dotted  here  and  there  with 
bright  spots,  and  which  presented  the  appearance  of  land  half  aban- 
doned by  an  ebbing  tide.  This  large  bay  reached  almost  under  our 
feet,  to  the  foot  of  the  mountains.  On  the  banks  of  sand  and  mud 
separating  the  lagunes,  there  was  a  mingled  vegetation  of  rushes  and 
sea-weeds,  wearing  a  thousand  tints,  equally  dark  and  yet  distinct, 
which  contrasted  with  the  shining  surface  of  the  water.  As  the  sun 
rapidly  neared  the  horizon,  he  alternately  illuminated,  of  threw  int© 
shadow,  some  one  of  the  innumerable  lakes  which  spotted  the  half-dried 
gulf;  he  seemed  to  draw,  from  his  celestia  casket,  the  most  precious 
materials,  gold,  silver,  rubies  and  diamonds,  to  display  them  by  turns, 
on  every  point  of  this  magnificent  plain.  Just  as  he  sunk  below  the 
horizon,  a  vapory  and  undulating  line  which  bounded  the  extreme  limit 
of  the  marshes,  suddenly  assumed  an  exquisite  flame-like  purple.  I 
was  wholly  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  this  picture,  stamped  with 
a  truly  divine  grandeur,  when  a  low,  stifled  voice  murmured  near  me  ; 
^'  My  Grod  !  how  beautiful  it  is." 

I  was  far  from  expecting  this  sympathetic  outbreak  from  my  young 
companion.  I  turned  toward  her  with  a  warj^h  and  surprise  which  did 
not  decrease  when  I  saw  the  change  in  ^rer  countenance,  and  the 
trembling  of  her  lips,  attesting  the  sincerity  of  her  admiration, 

"  You  confess  it  is  beautiful  !"  said  I. 

She  shook  her  head  ;  but  at  that  moment  two  great  tears  rolled  slow- 
ly down  her  cheeks;  she  dashed  them  away,  making  an  indignant  ges- 
ture; then  turning  suddenly  to  the  granite  cross,  the  base  of  which 
served  her  for  a  pedestal,  she  grasped  it  with  her  hands,  and  leaning 
her  head  firmly  against  it,  sobbed  convulsively, 

I  felt  I  ought  not  to  interrupt,  by  a  single  word,  the  course  of  this 
unlooked-for  emotion,  and  respectfully  withdrew  a  few  steps.  After  a 
moment,  seeing  her  raise  her  head,  and  replace  with  a  careless  hand 
the  hair  that  had  become  unfastened,  I  approached  her. 

•"  How  ashamed  I  am!"  she  murmured. 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  67 

■*''  Be  happy,  rather,  and  cease  the  attempt,  I  pray  you,  to  dry  up  the 
gource  of  these  tears;  it  is  sacred.  Besides,  you  can  nev€r  accomplish 
it." 

"  It  shall  be  done  !"  cried  the  young  girl  violently.  "  Besidfts,  it  is 
done  !  This  fit  of  weeping  was  only  an  ov<  rsight.  All  that  is  beauti- 
ful, and  all  that  is  good — I  wish  to  hate  it — I  do  hate  iti" 

''And  why?     Good  God!" 

She  looked  me  in  the  face,  and  added  with  a  gesture  of  pride  and 
inexpressible  sadness,  "because  I  am  beautiful  and  can  never  be  loved  !" 

Then,  like  a  torrent  long  restrained,  which  has  finally  broken  its 
bounds,  she  continued  :  "  It  is  true,  nevertheless  !"  And  she  put  her 
hand  on  her  breast.  "  God  put  in  this  heart  all  the  gifts  that  I  jeer 
at,  that  I  revile  every  hour  of  the  day  !  But  when  he  infiicted  wealth 
en  me,  he  took  away  with  one  hand,  what  he  bestowed  with  the  other  ! 
Of  what  good  is  my  beauty,  of  what  good  the  devotij»n,  tenderness,  en- 
thusiasm, with  which  I  am  consumed!  Ah!  it  is  not  to  these  attrac- 
tions that  the  homage  is  rendered  with  which  so  many  poltroons  annoy 
me!  I  know,  I  know  too  well!  and  if  ever  some  disinterested,  gene- 
rous, heroic  soul  were  to  love  mc  for  what  I  am,  nor  for  what  I  have — 
I  should  not  believe  it!  Distrust  always!  That  is  my  sorrow,  my 
punishment!  One  thing  is  positive — I  shall  never  love  !  I  will  never 
risk  difi"using  in  an  unworthy,  venal  heart  the  pure  passion  which  burns 
ia  my  own.     I  will  live  and  die  with  a  virgin  heart  in 'my  bosom  ! 

"  Weill  I  am  resigned  to  it;  but  all  that  is  beautiful,  all  that  one 
dreams  of,  all  that  speaks  to  me  of  forbidden  happiness,  all  that  rouses 
in  me  a  useless  love — I  drive  it  away — I  bate  it!"  She  stopped, 
trembling  with  emotion  ;  then  in  a  lower  voice  she  resumed  :  "  Sir,  I 
have  not  sought  for  this — I  have  not  weighed  my  words,  I  have  not  de- 
signed to  bestow  all  this  confidence  upon  you — but  I  have  spoken;  you 
know  all — and  if  I  have  ever» wounded  your  sensibility,  now  I  believe 
you  will  forgive  me." 

She  gave  me, her  hand.  V/hen  my  lips  touched  this  soft  hand,  still 
wet  with  her  tears,  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  mortal  languor  filled  my 
veins.  Marguerite  turned  away  her  head,  gazed  for  a  moment  at  the 
darkening  heavens,  then  slowly  descended  the  ste^s,  saying,  "  let  us  go." 


Axigust  20. 

A  longer  but  much  easier  road  than  that  by  which  we  ascended  the 
mountain,  led  us  into  the  courtyard  of  the  farmhouse,  without  a  word 
being  exchanged  between  us.  Alas  !  what  could  I  say  ?  I  was  more 
open  to  suspicion  than  any  one  else.  I  felt  that  each  word  which  es- 
■caped  from  my  full  heart,  would  only  increase  the  distance  which  sep-  _ 
arated  me  from  the  distrustful  but  adorable  b«ing. 

Night  had  already  fallen,  hiding  from  all  eyes  the  traces  of  our  mu- 
tual emotion.  "We  set  out  homewards.  Mrs.  Laroque  fell  asleep,  af- 
ter having  again  expressed  the  pleasure  she  had  experienced  during 
the  day.  Marguerite,  invisible  and  immovable  in  the  deep  shadow  of 
the  carriage,  seemed  to  sleep,  like  her  mother  ;  but  when  a  turn  of  the 


• 


68  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  3Ian. 

road  threw  on  her  a  ray  of  pale  light,  her  open,  steadfast  eyes  shovreâ 
that  she  watched  in  silent  communion  with  her  one  inconsolable  thought. 
For  myself,  I  can  hardly  say  what  I  felt;  a  strange  sensation  of  min- 
gled joy  and  grief  had  usurped  my  whole  being,  and  I  yielded  to  it  as 
one  yields  to  a  dream  of  which  he  is  conseioua  but  lacks  the  strength 
to  shake  it  off. 

We  arrived  at  home  about  midnight.  1  descended  from  the  car- 
riage at  the  entrance  of  the  aTenue,  in  order  to  reach  my  apartments 
by  the  shortest  way  across  the  park.  As  I  entered  a  dark  path,  the 
souffd  of  approaching  steps  and  voices  struck  ray  ear,  and  I  distin- 
guished two  figures  in  the  darkness.  The  night  was  so  far  adyanced 
as  to  justify  my  précaution  of  coaceaHng  myself  ia  the  thicket,  and 
•watching  these  nocturnal  ramblers.  They  passed  slowly  in  front  of 
me;  I  recogniz&d  Miss  Helouin  leaning  on  Mr,  de  Bevallan's  arm.  At 
that  instant  the  sound  of  the  carriage  wheels  alarmed  them,  and  after 
a  warm  pressure  of  their  hasda,  they  separated  hastily,  Helouin  going 
in  the  direction  of  the  chateau,  and  the  oth&r  towards  the  forest. 

I  returned  to  my  room,  and  s'tiil  reflecting  on  this  adventure,  asked 
myself  with  anger  if  I  should  allow  Mr.  de  Bevallan  to  pursue  freely 
his  double  love,  and  geek  a  wife  aad  a  mistress  ia  the  same  house.  As- 
suredly I  ara  too  much  a  man  of  my  time  to  feel  against  certaiïï  weak- 
nesses the  vigorous  hatred  of  a  Puritan,  and  I  ha7e  nat  the  hypocrisy 
to  affect  it;  but  I  think  that  the  loosest  morality  in  this  respect  admits- 
some  degree  of  dignity,  elevatioa,  and  delicacy.  Above  all,  love  is  its 
own  best  excuse,  and  de  Bevallsn's  vulgar  profusion  of  tenderness  ex- 
cludes all  appearance  of  fascinatioa  and  passion.  Such  loTe  is  not  a 
fault  ;  it  h^as  not  even  that  moral  value  ;  it  is  the  result  only  of  calcula- 
tion and  of  the  bets  laid  by  stupid  pimps. 

The  various  inciden-ts  of  this  night,,  showed  me  to  what  an  extreme 
degree  this  man  was  unworthy  of  the  hand  and  the  heart  he  dared  to 
covet.  This  unioa  would  be  monstrous.  And  yet  I  instantly  perceived 
how  impossible  it  would  be  for  Eae  fo  thwart  his  designs  by  using  the 
weapons  chance  had  placed  in  my  hands.  The  best  end  would  not 
justify  bad  means,  aad  m.y  knowledge  had  not  bee:5  honorably  acquired. 
This  marriage  will-  then  take  place  Î  Keaven  will  aMow  one  of  the  no- 
blest creatures  ever  made,  to  fall  into  the  arms  of  this  cold  libertine  i 
It  will  suffer  this  profanation  !  Alas  !  it  bas  suSered  2ia»y  such  pro- 
fanations I 

Thea  1  tried  to  conceive  through  what  e?ro?  of  judgment  this  young 
girl  had  chosen  this  man.  I  thought  I  understood  it.  Mr.  de  Beval- 
lan is  very  rich  ;  he  will  b^ing  a  fortune  uearly  esjual  to  tha/t  which  he 
finds  here  :  this  seems  a  sort  of  guarantee  of  his  sincerity;  he  is  pre- 
sumed to  be  more  disinterested  because  he  is  less  needy.  Sad  argu- 
ment !  A  grievous  blunder  to  rate  characters  by  the  degree  of  venali- 
ty !  Three-fourths  of  the  time,  greediness  increasss  with  wealth — and 
the  greatest  beggars  are  not  the  pooirest  ! 

Was  there  not,  however,  some  hope  that  Marguerite  woirld  of  herself 
open  her  eyes  to  the  unworthiness  of  her  choice,  and  find  in  some  se- 
cret inspiration  of  her  own  heart,  the  counsel  I  was  prohibited  frons 
offering  her  ?    Might  there  not  rise  up  ia  her  keart,  a  new,  ujilooked^ 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  3Ian.  69 

for  sentiment,  which  vrould  blow  away  these  vain  resolves  of  reason, 
making  them  of  no  effect  ?  "Was  not  this  feeling  already  alive  there  ? 
Had  I  not  received  undoubted  proof  of  it  ?  ]^any  of  the  strange  ca- 
prices, the  struggles,  and  the  tears,  of  which  I  had  been  the  object  or 
the  witness,  proclaimed,  without  a  doubt,  a  wavering  mind,  little  mis- 
tress of  itself  I  was  not  so  new  in  life  as  to  be  ignorant  that  a  scene 
like  that  of  which  I  chanced  to  be  this  very  night  the  confidant  and 
almost  the  accomplice — however  unpremeditated  it  might  have  been, 
would  not  have  burst  forth  in  an  atmosphere  of  indifference.  Such 
emotions,  such  shocks,  presuppose  two  souls  already  disturbed  by  a  mu- 
tual tempest. 

But  if  it  were  true,  if  she  loves  me,  as  it  is  only  too  certain  that  I 
love  her,  I  could  say  of  this  love  what  she  said  of  her  beauty — "  Of 
what  good  !"  for  I  could  never  hope  that  it  would  have  sufficient 
strength  to  triumph  over  the  endless  distrust  which  is  the  singularity 
and  the  virtue  of  this  noble  girl,  a  distrust  of  which  my  character 
would  repel  the  injustice,  but  which  my  situation, 'more  than  any  other, 
is  made  to  inspire.  What  miracle  can  fill  up  the  abyss  between  these 
terrible  suspicions  and  the  reserve  they  impose  on  me  ? 

And  finally,  if  this  miracle  were  to  intervene,  were  she  to  deign  to 
offer  me  a  hand  for  which  I  would  give  my  life,  but  which  I  would 
never  ask  for,  would  our  union  be  happy  ?  Ought  I  not  to  fear,  sooner 
or  later,  some  inexorable  awakening  of  an  ill-suppressed  suspicion,  in 
this  restless  imagination  ?  Could  I  guard  m3'self  from  all  painful  after- 
thoughts, in  the  midst  of  borrowed  wealth  ?  Could  I  enjoy  without 
uneasiness  a  love  tainted  with  favors?  Our  part  of  protectirfg  women 
is  so  formally  imposed  on  us  by  all  the  sentiments  of  honor,  that  it 
cannot  be  reversed  a  single  instant  even  in  all  honesty  without  casting 
upon  us  some  shadow  of  doubt  and  suspicion.  But  in  reality,  wealth 
is  not  so  great  an  advantage  that  no  kind  of  compensation  can  be  found 
in  this  world,  and  I  take  for  granted  that  a  man  who  brings  to  his 
wife,  in  exchange  for  a  few  bags  of  gold,  a  name  that  he  has  rendered 
illustrious,  or,  great  merit,  or  a  promising  future,  ought  not  to  be  over- 
powered witi»  gratitude  ;  but  I,  I  have  empty  hands,  I  have  nothing 
more  to  hope  from  the  future,  than  of  the  present;  of  all  the  advan- 
tages that  the  world  appreciates,  I  have  only  one — my  title,  and  I 
should  be  very  resolute  not  to  bear  it  in  order  that  no  one  could  say,  it 
was  the  price  of  the  bargain.  In  short,  I  should  receive  all,  and  I 
should  give  nothing  :  a  king  might  marry  a  shepherdess,  and  it  would 
be  generous  and  charming,  and  one  would  justly  congratulate  him 
upon  it,  but  if  a  shepherd  were  to  be  married  to  a  queen,  that  would 
not  make  so  good  a  figure. 

I  have  passed  the  whole  night  in  turning  these  things  in  my  poor 
brain,  or  in  seeking  a  conclusion  that  I  have  not  yet  found.  Perhaps 
I  ought,  without  delay,  to  leave  this  house  and  this  country.  Wisdom 
commands  it.  All  this  would  then  be  at  an  end.  What  mortal  trou- 
ble would  one  often  save  himself  by  a  minute  of  courage  and  decision  ! 
I  ought,  at  least,  to  be  overpowered  with  sadness.  I  have  never  had 
greater  occasion  for  it.   But  I  am  not  I  At  the  bottom  of  my  disturbed 


7G  TTie  'Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

and  tortirred  heart  there  is  one  thought  which  overcomes  all  else,  ana 
fills  me  with  a  supei'human  lightness  and  joy. 

I  see  constantly,  I  shail  always  see,. that  little  cemetery,  that  distant 
sea,  that  immense  horizon^  and  that  angel  of  beauty  bathed  in  divine 
tears  I  I  feel  &till  her  hand  under  my  lips;  I  feel  her  tears  in  my  eyes, 
in  my  heart  !  I  love  her  !  Well  !  to-morrow,  if  necessary,  I  will  de- 
cide. Till  ihen,  let  me  rest.  For  a  long  time  I  have  not  misused  hap- 
piness. This  love — I  shall  die  of  it,  perhaps;  let  me  enjoy  it  in  peace 
another  day  ! 


August  26. 

This  day,  this  single  day,  that  I  implored,  has  not  been  granted  to 
me.  My  short-lived  weakness  has  not  long  awaited  its  expiation,  nor 
will  it  soon  be  ended.  How  could  I  have  forgotten  that  it  was  sure  to 
come  !  In  the  moral,  as  in  the  physical  order  of  things,  there  are 
laws  that  cannot  be  transgressed  with  impunity,  and  the  certain  effects 
of  which  form  in  this  world  the  permanent  intervention  that  is  called 
Providence.  A  weak,  but  great  man,  who  wrote  with  an  almost  foolish 
brain  the  evangel  of  a  sage,  said  of  these  very  passions,  which  were  at 
once  his  misery,  his  opprobrium,  and  his  genius — "  All  are  good  when 
we  are  their  master — all  are  bad  when  we  allow  them  to  enslave  us." 
What  we  are  forbidden  by  nature  is,  to  enlarge  our  affection  beyond 
our  power  to  control  them  ;  what  reason  forbids  is,  to  wish  for  what 
we  cannot  obtain;  conscience  does  not  forbid  us  to  be  tempted,  but  to 
yield  to  temptation.  It  does  not  depend  on  us  to  have  or  not  to  have 
passions;  but  it  depends  on  us  to  govern  them.-  All  the  feelings  that 
we  control  are  legitimate  ;  all  that  control  us  are  criminal. 

Let  thy  heart  cling  to  that  beauty  only  which  perisheth  not  ;  let  thy 
condition  bound  thy  desires;  let  thy  duties  go  before  thy  passions; 
extend  the  law  of  necessity  to  moral  things  ;  learn  to  give  up  all  when 
virtue  commands  it  !  Yes,  such  is  the  law — I  knew  it  ;  I  have  viola- 
ted it;  I  am  punished;  nothing  could  be  more  just. 

I  had  hardly  rested  for  a  moment  in  the  cloud  of  this  foolish  love, 
than  I  was  precipitated  violently  from  it,  and  I  have  scarcely  recov- 
ered, after  five  days,  the  necessary  courage  to  record  the  circumstances 
of  my  fall.  Mrs.  Laroque  and  her  daughter  had  gone  to  pay  another 
visit  to  Mrs.  de  Saint-Cast,  and  to  bring  home  Mrs.  Aubry.  I  found 
Miss  Helouin  alone  in  the  chateau,  whither  I  had  gone  to  carry  her 
her  quarter's  salary,  for  though  my  duties  left  me,  in  general,  a  stranger 
to  the  management  and  internal  discipline  of  the  house,  the  ladies  had 
desired,  out  of  regard  for  her,  as  well  as  for  myself,  that  our  salaries 
should  pass  through  no  hands  but  mine. 

The  young  lady  was  seated  in  a  little  boudoir  adjoining  the  saloon. 
She  received  me  with  a  pensive  sweetness  which  touched  me.  I  pos- 
sessed at  that  moment  that  fullness  of  heart  which  disposes  one  to  con- 
fidence and  good  will.  [  resolved,  like  a  true  Don  Quixote,  to  extend  a 
euccoring  hand  to  this  lonely  being. 


Tlie  Romance  of  a  Poor   Young  Man.  71 

''  Mademoiselle,"  I  said  adruptly,  "  you  have  withdravm  your  friend- 
ship from  me,  but  mine  still  remains  wholly  yours  j  will  you  permit  me 
to  give  you  a  proof  of  it  ?" 

She  looked  at  me,  and  murmured  a  timid  '*  Yes." 

"Well,  my  poor  child,  jou  will  ruin  yourself." 

She  rose  hastily. 

"  You  saw  me  that  night  in  the  park  ?" 

"  Yes,  Helouin." 

"  My  God  I"  She  took  one  step  toward  me.  "  Maximilian,  I  swear 
to  you  that  I  am  a  virtuous  girl." 

"  I  believe  it;  but  I  ought  to  tell  you  that,  in  this  little  romance, 
very  innocent,  doubtless,  on  your  part,  but  less  so  on  the  part  of  the 
other,  you  seriously  risk  your  reputation  and  your  peace  of  mind.  I 
beg  you  to  reflect,  and  I  beg  you,  at  the  same  time,  to  be  assured  that 
no  one  but  yourself  shall  ever  hear  a  word  from  my  mouth  on  this . 
subject." 

I  was  retiring  when  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees  beside  a  sofa, 
Bobbing  aloud,  and  leaned  her  forehead  on  my  hand,  which  she  had 
seized.  I  had  seen  but  a  little  while  belore  more  beautiful  and  more 
worthy  tears  tfow  ;  but  I  was  moved  by  these. 

"  Tall  me,  Helouin,"  said  1,  "it  is  not  too  late,  is  it?"  She  shook 
her  head.  "  Well,  my  poor  child,  take  courage  ;  we  will  save  you. 
What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  Has  that  man  any  tokens,  any  letters,  in  hi^ 
hands,  the  restoration  of  which  I  can  demand  in  your  name?  Com- 
mand me  as  you  would  a  brother." 

She  released  my  hand,  with  a  look  of  anger. 

"Ah  !  how  cruel  you  are  I"  said  she.  "  You  speak  of  saving  me — 
it  is  you  who  have  ruined  me  !  After  having  feigned  to  love  me,  you 
have  repulsed  me  ;  you  have  humiliated  me  ;  you  are  the  sole  cause  of 
what  has  happened." 

"  xMiss  Helouin,  you  are  unjust;  I  have  never  feigned  to  love  you; 
I  have  had  a  very  sincere  aftcction  for  you,  and, I  have  it  still.  I  own 
that  your  beauty,  your  mind,  and  your  talents,  give  you  a  perfect  right 
to  expect  from  tho.se  who  live  with  you,  something  warmer  than  frater 
nal  friendship  ;  but  my  position  in  the  world,  the  duties  which  are  im- 
posed on  me  by  my  family,  do  not  permit  mc  to  chcri.sh  any  other  sen 
timent  toward  you  without  disloyalt}-^^.  I  tell  you  frankly  that  I  think 
you  charming,  and  I  assure  you,  that  in  keeping  my  feelings  within 
the  bounds  prescribed  by  honesty,  I  have  not  been  without  merit.  I 
8ce  nothing  in  this  very  humiliating  to  you;  that  which  should  justly 
humiliate  you  is  to  see  yourself  boldly  loved  by  a  man  who  is  dctf^r 
mined  not  to  marry  you." 

She  gave  me  a  malicious  look. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?    All  men  are  not  fortune  hunters.' 

"  Ah  !  you  would  be  wicked,  mischievous,  Miss  Helouin  ?  That 
being  the  case,  I  have  the  honor  to  say,  good-bye." 

"Mr.  Maximilian!"  she  cried,  placing  herself  before  mc  ;  "pardon 
me  !  pity  me  !  I  am  so  unhappy  !  Alas  !  imagine  what  must  be  the 
feelings  of  a  poor  creature  like  me.  Who  has  been  cruelly  gifted  with 
a  heart,  a  soul,  a  miud.  and  whose  sufl^cring  is  only  increased  in  consc 


72  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  3Ian. 

quence  !  What  is  my  present  life  ?  and  what  is  there  for  me  in  the 
future  ?  My  life  is  filled  with  the  thought  of  my  poverty,  aggravated 
by  the  refinements  of  luxury  which  surround  me.  My  future  will  be 
filled  with  regret,  with  bitter  tears  for  even"  this  life,  this  life  of  slave- 
ry, odious  as  it  is  !  You  speak  of  my  mind,  my  talents  ;  I  would  1  had 
never  had  abilities  for  any  thing  higher  than  breaking  stones  on  the 
road  I  I  should  be  "happier  !  I  shall  have  spent  the  best  part  of  my 
life  in  adorning  another  woman,  in  order  that  she  might  be  more  beau- 
tiful, more  adored,  and  more  haughty  still.  And  when  the  purest  of 
my  blood  shall  have  thus  passed  into  the  veins  of  this  puppet,  she  will 
go  to  the  arras  of  a  happy  husband,  and  bear  her  part  in  the  festive  scenes 
of  life  ;  whilst  I,  lonely,  old,  and  abandoned,  shall  die  in  some  corner 
with  the  pension  of  a  lady's  maid.  What  have  I  done  to  merit  from 
Heaven  such  a  destiny  ?  Why  I  more  than  other  women  ?  Am  I  not 
as  worthy  as  they  ?  If  I  am  wicked,  it  is  misfortune,  it  is  injustice, 
which  has  embittered  my  soul.  I  was  born  to  be  good,  loving,  charita- 
ble, like  them.  Ah  !  kindness  costs  so  little  when  one  is  rich,  and 
goodness  is  easy  to  the  happy.  If  1  were  in  their  place,  and  they  in 
mine,  they  would  hate  me  as  I  hate  them.  One  does  not  love  his 
masters  What  I  say. is  horrible,  is  it  not?  I  know  it  well.  I  feel 
my  abjectness,  and  I  blush  for  it  !  Alas  I  you  will  scorn  me  now  more 
than  ever  ;  you,  whom  I  would  have  loved  so  well,  if  you  would  have 
suffered  it  !  you,  who  could  have  restored  to  me  all  that  I  have  lost — 
hope,  peace,  goodness,  self-respect.  There  was  a  moment  when  I  be- 
lieved myself  saved — when  I  had  for  the  first  time  a  thought  of  happi- 
ness, of  pride — unfortunate  that  I  am  I" 

She  seized  both  my  hands,  bowed  down  her  head,  and  wept  bit- 
terly. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  understand  better  than  any  one  the  vexation,  the 
bitterness  of  your  situation  ;  but  allow  me  to  say,  that  you  only  add  to 
it  by  nourishing  such  thoughts  as  you  have  just  expressed  to  me. 
What  you  have  said  i&  very  disagreeable  ;  I  will  not  conceal  it  from 
you,  and  you  will  end  by  meriting  all  the,  hardships  of  your  destiny  ; 
but  your  imagination  has  greatly  exaggerated  it.  As  to  the  present, 
you  are  treated  here,  whatever  you  n:ay  say,  as  a  friend  ;  and  as  for  the 
future,  I  see  nothing  which  could  prevent  you  also  from  quitting  this 
house  to  go  to  the  arms  of  a  happy  husband.  For  myself,  I  shall  al- 
ways be  grateful  for  your  afiection,  but  I  wish  to  say  to  you  once  more, 
auvd  end  the  matter  forever,  that  I  have  duties  to  fiilfill,  and  that  I 
neither  can,  nor  do  I  wish  to  marry." 

She  suddenly  looked  up  at  me. 

"  Not  Êven  Marguerite  ?" 

"  I  do  not  see  that  the  name  of  Miss  Marguerite  need  be  brought 
into  this  discussion." 

She  pushed  back  her  hair  from  her  face  with  one  hand,  and  pointing 
the  other  towards  me  with  a  threatening  gesture  : 

"  You  love  her  !"  said  she,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  "  or  rather  you  love  hex 
fortune,  but  you  shall  not  have  it  !" 

«  Helouin  !' 


Thé  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  73 

"Ah  !"  she  replied,  "you  are  very  childish,  if  you  think  you  can 
deceive  a  woman  who  has  had  the  folly  to  love  you  !  I  read  your  ma- 
noeuvres clearly.  Besides,  I  know  who  you  are — I  was  not  far  off  when 
Miss  de  Porhoet  communicated  to  Mrs.  Laroque  your  politic  confession 
to  her.'' 

"  What  !  do  you  listen  at  doors,  Miss?" 

"  I  care  little  for  your  insults.  Besides,  I  can  avenge  them,  and 
soon.  Ah,  you  are  very  cunning,  Mr.  de  Champccy,  and  I  compli- 
ment you.  You  have  acted  admirably  the  part  of  disinterestedness  and 
reserve,  that  your  friend  Laubepin  recommended  to  you  when  he  sent 
you  here.  He  knew  with  whom  you  had  to  deal.  He  knew  also  the 
ridiculous  fancy  of  this  beautiful  girl.  You  think  her  already  your 
prcjTido  you  not?  Beautiful  millions,  the  source  of  which  is  more  or 
less  pure,  it  is  said,  but  which  would  be  very  convenient  to  plaster  up 
a  marquisate  and  regild  an  escutcheon.  Well!  you. may  renounce  all 
hope  of  it,  from  this  moment,  for  1  promise  that  you  shall  wear  your 
mask  only  one  day  longer,  and  this  hand  shall  tear  it  off." 

"  Helouin,  it  is  quite  time  to  put  an  end  to  this  scene,  for  it  is  be- 
coming melo-dramatic.  You  have  put  the  game  into  my  hands,  and  I 
could  anticipate  you  in  your  own  domain  of  accusation  and  calumny, 
but  you  may  rest  secure  ;  I  give  you  my  word  I  shall  not  follow  you 
thither.     I  am  your  servant." 

I  left  this  unhappy  person  with  a  profound  feeling  of  disgust  min- 
gled with  pity.  Although  I  had  always  surmised  that  the  best  endowed 
organizations  must,  in  proportion  to  their  gifts,  be  irritated  and  soured 
in  the  equivocal  and  mortifying  position  that  Ilelouin  occupied,  my  im- 
agination had  never  sounded  the  abyss  of  hatred  now  opened  beneath 
my  eyes.  Truly,  when  one  thinks  of  it,  one  can  hardly  conceive  a  kind 
of  existence  which  exposes  a  human  soul  to  more  venomous  tempta- 
tions, or  which  might  be  more  capable  of  developing  envy  and  pride  in 
the  heart,  and  of  exasperating  all  the  natural  vanity  and  jealousy  of 
woman.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  greater  part  of  the  unfortunate 
girls,  whose  loss  of  fortune,  or  whose  abilities  have  caused  them  to  seek 
this  employment,  so  honorable  in  itself,  escape  by  the  moderation  of 
their  feelings,  by  the  firmness  of  their  principles,  or  by  the  grace  of 
God,  the  lamentable  perturbations,  from  which  Ilelouin  had  been  una- 
ble to  guard  herself,  but  the  test  is  a  fearful  one.  As  to  myself,  the 
idea  had  sometimes  occurred  to  me  that  ray  sister  might  be  compelled 
by  our  misfortunes  to  enter  some  wealthy  family  as  a  governess  ;  I  now 
took  a  vow  that  whatever  might  befall  us  in  the  future,  I  would  sooner 
share  with  Helen  the  bitterest  bread  of  labor  in  the  poorest  garret,  than 
allow  her  ever  to  seat  herself  at  the  poisoned  feast  of  this  hateful  ser- 
vitude. 

Although  I  was  firmly  determined  to  leave  the  field  open  to  Miss 
Hclouin,  and  not  to  enter,  at  any  cost,  into  degrading  recriminations,  I 
could  not  foresee  without  uneasiness,  the  probable  consequences  of  the 
war  which  had  been  declared  against  me.  I  was  evidently  threatened 
where  I  waa  most  sensitive,  in  my  lore,  and  in  my  honor.  Mistress  of 
the  secret  of  my  life,  and  my  heart,  mingling  truth  with  falsehood  with 
the  ekillfulness  of  her  sex,  Helouin  could  easily  present  my  conduct 


74  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

in  a  suspicious  light,  could  lend  to  my  simplest  actions  the  color  of  a 
premeditated  intrigue.  It  was  impossible  to  know  precisely  what  turn 
she  would  give  to  her  malevolence;  but  I  could  trust  to  her,  not  to 
blunder  in  her  choice  of  means.  She  knew  better  than  any  one,  the 
■weak  points  of  those  she  wished  to  eflfect.  She  possessed  over  the  minds 
of  both  IMarguerite  and  her  mother  the  natural  sway  of  dissimulation 
over  frankness;  of  craft  over  candor;  she  enjoyed  with  them  all  the 
confidence  which  long  habit  and  daily  intimacy  give  birth  to,  and  her 
masters,  to  use  her  own  language,  had  no  cause  to  suspect,  under  the 
show  of  graceful  good  humor  and  obsequious  ofGciousness,  the  frenzy  of 
pride  and  ingratitude  which  devoured  this  miserable  soul.  It  was 
only  too  probable  that  a  hand  as  skillful  and  as  sure  as  hers  would  drop 
its  poisons  with  entire  success  into  the  hearts  thus  fitted  to  re\jeive 
them.  She  might  fear,  in  yielding  to  her  resentment,  to  place  Mar- 
guerite's hand  in  that  of  de  Bevallan,  and  by  hastening  this  marriage, 
to  crush  her  own  ambitious  hopes,  but  I  knew  that  a  woman's  hate  does 
not  calculate,  but  risks  everything.  I  looked,  therefore,  for  the  speedi- 
est as  well  as  the  blindest  vengeance  on  her  part,  and  I  was  right. 

I  passed  the  time  in  painful  anxiety  which  I  had  dedicated  to  the 
sweetest  thoughts.  The  sharpest  and  bitterest  suffering  that  depen- 
dence can  cause  a  proud  spirit,  that  suspicion  can  inflict  on  an  upright 
conscience,  the  deepest  wound  that  scorn  can  give  to  a  loving  heart — 
I  have  felt  it  all.  Adversity  in  my  worst  days  had  never  dealt  me  so 
hard  a  blow. 

I  endeavoured,  however,  to  work  as  usual.  Toward  five  o'clock  I 
went  to  the  chateau.  The  ladies  had  returned,  and  I  found  in  the 
saloon  Marguerite,  Mrs.  Aubry,  Mr.  de  Bevallan,  and  two  or  three 
other  visitors.  Marguerite  did  not  appear  to  perceive  my  entrance; 
she  continued  to  converse  with  de  Bevallan  in  an  animated  tone  which 
was  unusual  with  her.  There  was  a  question  about  going  to  an  im- 
promptu ball,  which  was  to  take  place  that  night  at  a  neighboring 
chateau.  Marguerite  was  going  with  her  mother,  and  she  urged  de 
Bevallan  to  accompany  them  there  ;  he  excused  himself,  alleging  that  he 
had  left  home  before  receiving  the  invitation,  his  dress  was  not  suitable. 

Marguerite,  insisting  upon  it  with  a  coquettish  earnestness  that  sur- 
prised de  Bevallan  himself,  tald  him  there  was  sufficient  time  for  him 
to  go  home  to  dress,  and  return  for  them;  they  would  keep  him  a  good 
dinner.  De  Bevallan  objected  that  his  carriage-horses  were  sick,  and 
he  could  not  return  on  horseback  in  ball-dress. 

"  Well,"  replied  Miss  Marguerite,  "  you  can  be  driven  home  in  the 
^Américaine ;'"  and  turning  towards  me  for  the  first  time,  with  flash- 
ing eyes  :  ''  Mr.  Odiot,"  said  she,  in  a  tone  of  command,  "  go  and  tell 
them  to  harness  it," 

This  order  was  so  different  from  the  style  in  which  I  was  ordinarily 
addressed  here,  and  to  which  I  should  be  expected  to  submit,  that  the 
attention  and  curiosity  of  the  most  indifferent  spectators  were  roused 
at  once.  There  was  an  embarrassed  silence  :  Mr.  de  Bevallan  cast  an 
astonished  glance  on  Marguerite,  then  looked  at  me,  and  then  rose  from 
his  seat.  They  were  disappointed  if  they  expected  an  exhibition  of 
anger  from  me.     The  insulting  words  addressed  to  me  by  lips  so  beau- 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Tonng  Man.  75 

tiful,  so  beloved,  and  so  cruel,  had  sent  a  deathlike  coldness  to  my  very 
heart;  hut  I  was  never  more  calm.  The  bell  which  Mrs.  Laroquc 
used  habitually  to  summon  the  domestics,  stood  on  a  table  within  my 
reach  ;  I  rang  it,  and  a  servant  entered  immediately. 

"  I  believe/'  said  I  to  him,  "  that  ^liss  Marguerite  has  some  order  to 
give  you."  ^ 

At  these  words,  which  she  listened  to  wîxn  a  look  of  stupefaction, 
she  gave  a  negative  shake  of  her  head^  and  dismissed  the  servant.  I 
would  gladly  have  left  the  saloon,  where  I  seemed  to  be  suffocating, 
but  I  could  notMo  so  in  the  face  of  the  provoking  attitude  which  de 
Bevallan  had  assumed. 

"Upon  my  faith,"  he  muttered,  "this  is  something  very  singular." 

I  pretended  not  to  hear  him.  Marguerite  said  two  or  three  words 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  bow  to  your  wishes,  Miss,"  he  replied  in  a  more  elevated  voice, 
"  but  I  may  be  permitted  simply  to  express  the  sincere  regret  that  I 
feel  at  having  no  right  to  interfere  here." 

I  rose  at  once.  "  Mr.  do  Bevallan,"  said  T,  placing  myself  in  front  of 
him,  "this  regret  is  very  superfluous,  for  though  I  have  not  thought  it 
my  duty  to  obey  Miss  jNIarguerite's  commands,  I  am  wholly  at  yours — 
and  I  shall  await  them  !" 

"  Very  well — very  well,  sir — nothing  can  be  better,"  replied  Mr.  dc 
Bevallan,  waving  his  hand  gracefully,  to  re-assurc  the  ladies. 

We  bowed,  and  I  left  the  room. 

I  dined  alone  in  niv  tower,  attended,  as  usual,  by  pnor  Alain,  who 
had  undoufitedly  learned,  through  the  rumors  of  the  ante-chanib«r,  all 
that  passed,  for  he  constantly  gave  mc  the  most  sorrowiul  looks,  utter- 
ing deep  sighs  at  intervals,  and  preserving,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom, 
a  dull  silence  ;  telling  mc  only,  in  reply  to  my  question,  that  the  ladies 
were  not  going  to  the  ball. 

My  short  repast  ended,  I  arranged  my  papers,  and  wrote  a  few  words 
to  Mr.  Laubepin,  recutnmending  Helen  to  him  in  case  of  my  death. 
The  thought  of  her  desolation  in  sur;h  an  event  grieved  me  deeply,  but 
did  not  in  the  Irast  shake  my  determination.  1  may  err,  but  I  have 
always  thought  that  honor  rules  over  all  the  hierarchy  of  duty  in  our 
modern  society.  It  takes  the  place  to-day  of  so  many  virtues,  half 
eflfaced  from  the  consciences  of  men,  of  so  much  half-dead  faith,  that 
it  would  never  enter  my  mind  to  weaken  its  authority,  to  discuss  its 
decrees,  to  subordinate  its  obligations.  Honor,  in  ita  undefined  char- 
acter, ig  something  superior  to  law  and  to  morality.  It  is  a  religion.  If 
we  have  no  longer  the  faith  of  the  Cross,  let  us  preserve  the  faith  of  honor. 

I  expected  momentarily  a  mes.sage  from  dc  Bevallan.  I  was  pre- 
paring to  go  to  the  collector  of  the  borough,  who  was  a  young  officer 
who  had  been  wounded  in  the  Crimea,  when  some  one  knocked  at  my 
door,  and  de  Bevallan  himself  entered.  His  face  wore  an  expression 
of  open  and  joyous  good  nature,  with  a  slight  shade  nf  embarrass- 
ment 

"Sir,"  said  ho,  whilst  I  looked  at  him  with  surprise.  "  this  is  an 
irregular  proceeding;  but  I  have  rendered  the  state  services  which, 
God  be  thanked,  puts  ray  courage  beyond  all  .suspicion.     Besides  which, 


76  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

I  feel  tonight  a  pleasure  whicîi  leaves  no  room  in  me  for  Lostility  or 
rancor.  And  I  yield  to  commands  now  more  sacred  to  me  than  ever. 
In  short,  I  come  to  ofi'er  you  my  hand." 

I  bowed  gravely,  and  took  his  projffered  hand. 

"  Now,"  added  he,  seating  himself,  *'  I  can  fulfill  my  embassy  at  my 
ease.  Miss  Marguerite  gave  you,  in  a  thoughtless  moment,  some  orders, 
■which  certainly  were  not  m  your  province  to  recc've.  Your  suscepti- 
bility was  justly  wounded,  we  acknowledge,  and  the  ladies  have  com- 
missioned me  to  express  to  you  their  deep  regret.  They  were  in 
despair  lest  this  momentary  error  should  deprive  them  of  your  good 
offices,  of  which  they  appreciate  all  the  worth,  and  interrupt  the  rela- 
tions between  you  and  them,  to  which  they  attach  an  infinite  value. 
For  myself,  sir,  I  have  acquired  to-night,  to  my  great  joy,  the  right  to 
add  my  entreaties  to  theirs  ;  the  proposal  of  marriage,  which  I  made  a 
long  time  ago,  is  at  last  accepted,  and  I  should  be  personally  obliged  to 
you,  if  you  will  consent  not  to  mingle  with  the  happy  remembrances  of 
this  evening,  the  sorrowful  one  of  a  separation,  that  would  be  prejudi- 
cial to  the  famijy  into  which  I  am  about  to  enter."    .. 

"Sir,"  I  replied,  "I  cannot  be  insensible  to  the  tokens  of  good  feel- 
ing which  you  have  given  me  in  the  name  of  the  ladies  and  in  your 
own.  You  must  excuse  me  from  replying  to'  them  immediately  by  a 
formal  decision,  which  requires  more  freedom  of  thought  than  I  pos- 
sess at  this  moment." 

"Permit  me  at  least,"  said  de  Bevallan,  "to  carry  away  a  hope. 
Let  us,  sir,  since  the  occasion  presents  itself,  let  us  break  through  the 
shade  of  coldness  which  has  hitherto  existed  between  us.  For  my 
part,  I  am  well  disposed  to  do  so.  From  the  first,  Mrs.  Laroque, 
without  giving  up  a  secret  which  did  not  belong  to  her,  apprised  me 
that  circumstances,  the  most  honorable  for  you,  were  concealed  under 
the  air  of  mystery  with  which  you  surround  yourself  Finally,  I  owe 
you  special  gratitude;  I  know  that  you  were  recently  consulted  on  the 
subject  of  my  pretensions  to  Miss  Laroque's  hand,  and  that  I  have  to 
commend  your  kind  appreciation  of  me." 

"  I  do  not  think,  sir,  that  I  have  merited  " 

"  Oh  !  I  know,"  he  replied,  laughing,  "  that  you  did  not  overflow  in 
my  praise,  but  you  did  not  say  anything  to  my  prejudice.  I  even  think 
you  gave  evidence  of  real  sagacity.  You  said  that  if  Miss  Marguerite 
were  not  positively  happy  with  me,  she  would  not  be  unhappy.  The 
prophet  Daniel  could  not  have  spoken  better.  The  truth  is,  that  the 
dear  child  would  never  be  positively  happy  with  any  one,  since  she 
would  not  find  in  the  whole  world  a  husband  who  would  talk  to  her  in 
verse  from  morning  till  night.  I  am  not  of  this  sort  more  than  any 
one  else,  I  confess;  but — as  you  have  done  me  the  honor  to  say  of 
me — I  am  an  accomplished  man.  I  am  not  a  wicked  devil,  I  am  a 
good  fellow.  I  have  faults — I  have  had  them  at  least — I  have  loved 
pretty  women — I  cannot  deny  it!  But  what  of  that  !  .  It  is- the  proof 
of  a  good  heart.'  But  I  have  reached  port,  and  I  am  charmed,  because 
— between  ourselves — I  begin  to  grow  yellow  a  little.  In  short,  I 
vrish  in  future  to  think  only  of  my  wife  and  my  children.  Whence,  I  con- 
clude with  you,  that  Marguerite  will  be  perfectly  happy,  as  much  so  as 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  77 

sîie  can  bo  in  this  ^vofIcl,  vrith  such  a  head  as  hers  ;  for  I  will  refuse 
her  nothing,  I  will  even  anticipate  her  wishes.  But  if  she  were  to  ask 
me  for  the  moon  artel  stars,  I  could  not  go  and  take  them  down  in  order 
to  be  agreeable — that  would  be  impossible.  Above  all,  mj  friend,  give 
me  your  hand  once  more." 

I  gave  him  my  hand.  He  rose,  saying,  "  I  hope  you  will  remain 
with  us.  See,  clear  your  brow  a  little.  We  will  make  your  life  as 
pleîftant  as  possible  ;  but  you  must  fall  in  with  it  a  little — what  the 
devil  ! — you  delight  in  your  sadness.  You  live,  excuse  me,  like  an 
owl.  You  are  a  sort  of  Spaniard,  such  as  one  never  sccd  now-a-days. 
Why  don't  you  crook  your  finger  to  the  little  Helouin  ?     That  would 

amuse  you.     She  is  very  pretty,  and But  the  deuce — I  forgot  my 

promotion  to  high  dignity.  Adieu,  Maximilian,  and — to-morrow — is 
it  not?" 

"  To-morrow,  certainly." 

And  this  accomplished  man— who  is  himself  a  sort  of  Spaniard, 
such  as  one  sees  many  of — left  me  to  my  reflections. 


Octobc?'  1st. 

A  singular  event  !  Although  the  consequences  are  not  the  happiest 
to  me,  they  have  done  me  good.  After  the  terrible  blow  which  struck 
me,  I  remained  as  if  benumbed  with  grief.  This  has  at  least  restored 
to  me  a  feeling  of  life,  and  for  the  first  time  during  three  long  weeks, 
I  have  courage  to  open  these  leaves  and  resume  my  pen. 

All  possible  satisfaction  being  given  me,  I  thought  I  had  no  reason 
to  quit,  hastily  at  least,  a  position  and  advantages,  f  hich  are,  after  all, 
very  necessary,  and  for  which  I  should  have  great  difficulty  in  finding 
an  equivalent,  to*day,  or  to-morrow.  The  perspective  of  purely  per- 
sonal suffering  that  1  might  have  to  encounter,  and  that  I  have,  besides, 
brought  on  myself,  by  my  own  weakness,  could  not  justify  me  in  for- 
saking duties  in  which  other  interests  than  my  own  are  involved.  Be- 
sides, I  did  not  wish  to  have  Marguerite  coristrue  my  sudden  retreat  as 
vexation  for  the  loss  of  a  rich  wife,  and  I  made  it  a  point  of  honor 
with  myself  to  show  her  an  impassible  countenance,  even  at  the  altar  j 
as  to  my  heart,  she  could  not  see  that, 

I  finally. contented  myself  with  writing  to  Mr.  Laubepin,  that  cer- 
tain things  in  my  situation  might  at  any  jioment  become  intolerable  ta 
me,  and  that  I  was  desirous  to  obtain  some  employment,  less  remunera- 
tive, and  more  independent. 

The  next  day  I  presented  myself  at  the  chateau,  where  De  Bcvallan 
welcomed  me  cordially.  I  saluted  the  ladies  with  as  much  naturalness 
as  I  could  assume.  It  was  well  understood  there  were  to  be  no  ex- 
planations. Mrs.  Laroque  seemed  to  mç  pensive  and  thoughtful,  Miss 
Marguerite  a  little  uncertain,  but  polite.  As  to  Helouin.  she  was  very 
pale,  and  kept  her  eyes  fastened  on  her  embroidery.  The  poor  girl 
had  no  cause  to  felicitate  herself  on  the  final  result  of  her  diplomacy. 
She  would,  from  time  to  time,  throw  a  look  of  scorn  and  menace  at  the 
triumphant    de   Bevallan;    but    in   this    stormy  atmosphere,   which 


78  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

would  have  disturbed  a  novice,  he  breathed,  moved  and  flut- 
tered about  with  the  most  perfect  ease.  This  manifestly  irritated 
Helouin,  but  it  also  subdued  her.  If  she  could  have  ruined  her  ac- 
complice as  well  as  herself,  I  do  riot  doubt  that  she  would  instantly 
have  rendered  him,  and  with  a  much  greater  right,  a  service  analogous 
to  that  which  she  had  done  me  the  previous  evening  ;  but  it  is  proba- 
ble that  in  yielding  to  her  jealous  anger,  and  confessing  her  duplicity, 
she  would  have  ruined  herself  only,  and  she  had  sufficient  intelligence 
to  understand  that.  Mr.  d<3  Bevallan,  in  truth,  was  not  the  man  to 
commit  himself  with  Miss  Helouin  without  reserving  some  means  of 
defence,  and  this  he  would  use  with  pitiless  composure.  She  resigned 
herself,  therefore,  not  without  finding  by  bitter  experience,  I  suspect, 
■that  the  weapon  cf  treason  turns  sometimes  in  the  htind  which  em- 
ploys it. 

During  this  day,  and  many  days  following,  I  was  subjected  to  a  kind 
of  torture  which  I  had  foreseen,  but  of  which  I  had  not  calculated  all 
the  sharp  details.  The  marriage  was  to  take  place  at  the  end  of  a 
month.  It  was,  therefore,  necessary  to  commence  preparations  with  all 
haste.  Bouquets  from  Madame  Prévost  came  regularly  every  morning. 
Laces,  stuffs,  and  jewelry  flowed  in  together,  and  were  displayed  every 
evening  in  the  saloon,  to  the  eyes  of  busy  and  envious  friends.  I  was 
compelled  to  give  my  opinion,  and  my  advice  upon  every  point.  Mar- 
guerite solicited  them  with  cruel  affectation.  I  would  obey  her  com- 
mands with  good  grace  ;  then  I  would  return  to  my  tower,  and  taking 
from  a  secret  drawer  the  little  tattered  handkerchief,  that  I  had  saved 
at  the  peril  of  my  life,  would  dry  mv  tearful  eyes  with  it.  Faint- 
hearted still  !  But  what  S'hall  I  do  ?  I  love  her.  Perfidy,  ha,tred, 
irreparable  misuifderstandings,  separate  us  forever  :  so  be  it  !  but  noth- 
ing will  prevent  this  heart  from  living  and  dying  full  of  her  ! 

But  a  jeering  deman  whispered  in  my  ear,  that  according  to  the 
foresight  of  human  wisdom,  Marguerite  would  find  more  peace  and 
real  happiness  in  the  tempeiate  friendship  of  a  reasonable  husband, 
than  she  would  have  met  with  in  the  passionate  love  of  a  romantic 
spouse.  Is  it  true?  Is  it  possible?  I  do  not  believe  it!  She  will 
have  peace,  be  it  so;  but  peace,  after  all,  is  not  the  highest  word  of 
life,  the  supreme  symbol  of  happiness..  If  merely  to  escape  suffering 
and  to  petrify  the  heart  is  all  that  is  necessary  in  order  to  be  happy, 
too  many  people  are  happy,  who  do  not  deserve  to  be  so.  By  the  force 
cf  reason,  and  of  prose,  one  ends  by  defaming  God,  and  degrading  His 
work.  God  gives  peace  to  the  dead,  passion  to  the  living.  Yes,  there 
is  in  life,  by  the  side  of  vulgar  and  daily  interests,  from  which  I  have 
not  the  childishness  to  pret'Cad  to  escape,  there  is  a  poetry  permitted, 
nay,  commanded  !  It  is  the  immortal  part  of  the  soul.  It  is  neces- 
Bary  that  this  soul  should  be  revealed  sometimes,  whether  it  be  by 
ecstasies,  beyond  that  which  is  real,  by  aspirations  for  the  impossible, 
whether  it  be  by  storms,  or  tears.  There  is  a  suffering  which  is  of 
more  worth  than  happiness,  or  rather,  which  is  happiness  itself;  it  is 
that  of  a  human  being,  who  understands  all  the  sorrows  of  the  heart, 
and,  all  the  fancies  of  the  brain,  and  who  shares  these  noble  tdrments 
with  a  sympathetic  heart  and  a  kindred  mind. 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.'  79 

Moreover,  the  poor  child  will  not  have  even  this  boasted  peace.  That 
the  union  of  two  cold  hearts  and  inert  imaginations  ergender  the 
repose  of  nothingness,  I  believe;  but  the  union  of  life  with  death  can 
not  be  maintained  without  terrible  constraint  and  perpetual  heart- 
breaking. 

In  the  midst  of  these  grievous  troubles,  I  found  no  relief  except 
near  my  poor,  old  friend  Miss  de  Porhoct.  She  was,  or  feigned  to  be, 
ignorant  of  the  state  of  my  heart;  but  in  veiled  allusions,  perhaps  in- 
voluntary, she  laid  her  hand  on  my  bleeding  wounds  with  all  a  woman's 
delicacy  and  skill.  There  was,  besides,  in  this  soul,  a  living  emblem  of 
sacrifice  and  resignation,  and  which  seemed  to  float  above  the  earth,  a 
freedom,  a  calmness,  a  sweet  firmness,  which  diffused  itself  over  me.  I 
began  to  comprehend  her  innocent  folly,  and  even  to  associate  myself 
ingeniously  with  it.  Bending  over  my  album,  I  was  cloistered  with 
her  for  long  hours  in  her  cathedral,  and  I  breathed  there,  at  moments, 
the  vague  perfume  of  an  ideal  serenity. 

In  proportion  as  the  fatal  da3'^  approached,  Marguerite  lost  the  fever- 
ish vivacity  which  had  animated  her  since  the  marriage  had  been 
decided  on.  She  fell  at  intervals  into  her  former  familiar  attitude  of 
passive  indolence,  and  sober  revery.  Two  or  three  times  I  surprised  her 
looking  at  me  with  an  air  of  extraordinary  perplexity.  jMrs.  Laroque, 
too,  on  her  part,  often  regarded  me  with  an  expression  of  anxiety  and 
indecision,  as  if  she  desired  and  at  the  same  time  dreaded  to  approach 
some  painful  subject  of  conversation.  The  day  before  yesterday  I 
chanced  to  be  alone  with  her  in  the  saloon,  Helouin  having  gone  to 
transmit  some  order.  The  indifferent  conversation  in  which  we  were 
engaged,  ceased  at  once  as  if  by  some  secret  accord  :  "Mr.  Odiot,"  said 
Mrs.  Laroque  in  a  penetrating  voice,  "you  choose  very  unwisely  to 
i?hom  to  tell  your  secrets." 

"  My  secrets,  madame  !  I  cannot  understand  you.  No  one  here 
except  Miss  de  Porhoct  has  ever  heard  from  me  a  breath  of  my 
secrets." 

"Alas!"  she  replied,  "I  wish  to  believe  it — I  do  believe  it;  but 
that  is  not  enough  !" 

At  this  moment  Helouin  reentered  and  nothing  more  was  said. 

The  next  day — that  is,  yesterday — I  set  out  on  l\orseback  early  in 
the  morning  to  oversee  the  felling  of  some  timber  in  the  neighborhood. 
I  was  returning  towards  four  o'clock  in  the  direction  of  tlie  chalean, 
^hen  at  a  sharp  turn  of  the  road,  I  found  myself  face  to  face  with 
Marguerite.  She  was  alone.  I  bowed,  and  was  about  to  pass,  but  she 
stopped  her  horse. 

"  A  beautiful  autumn  day,  sir,"  said  she. 

"  Yes,  Miss.     You  are  going  to  ride  ?" 

"As  you  see,  I  am  using  my  last  moments  of  independence,  and 
even  abusing  them,  for  I  feel  a  little  troubled  by  my  solitude.  But 
Alain  was  wanted  down  there — my  poor  Mervyn  is  larac.  You  do  not 
wish  to  replace  him  by  chance  ?" 

"  With  pleasure.     Where  arc  you  going?" 

"  Why — I  had  the  idea  of  pushing  my  ride  as  far  as  the  tower  of 
Elven."     She  pointed  with  the  end  of  her  riding-whip  to  a  dark  sum- 


80  yAe  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

mit  which  rose  within  sight  of  the  road.     "  I  think,"  she  added,  ''that 
you  have  never  made  this  pilgrimage." 

"  It  is  true.  It  has  often  tempted  me,  but  I  have  put  it  off  till  nowj 
I  hardly  know  why." 

"  Well  !  it  is  easily  found  ;  but  it  is  already  late,  and  we  must  make 
a  little  haste,  if  you  please."  * 

I  turned  my  horse's  head  and  we  set  out  at  a  gallop. 

As  we  rode  I  sought  to  explain  to  myself  this  unexpected  whim, 
which  I  could  not  but  think  premeditated.  I  concluded  that 
time  and  reflection  had  weakened  in  Marguerite's  mind  the  first  impres- 
sions made  by  the  calumnies  which  had  been  poured  into  her  ear.  She 
had  apparently  ended  by  doubting  Helouin's  veracity,  and  had  contri- 
ved to  offer  me  by  chance,  under  a  disguised  form,  a  kind  of  repara- 
tion which  might  possibly  be  due  me. 

In  the  midst  of  the  thoughts  that  besieged  me  I  attached  slight  im- 
portance to  the  particular  end  we  proposed  to  ourselves  in  this  strange 
ride.  I  had  often  heard  this  tower  of  Elven  spoken  of  as  one  of  the 
most  interesting  ruins  of  the  country,  and  I  kad  never  (ravelled  over 
either  of  the  two  roads  which  lead  from  Rennes,  or  from  Jocelyn,  to- 
ward the  sea,  without  contemplating  with  an  eager  eye,  that  uncertain 
mass  which  one  sees  towering  upwards  in  the  middle  of  distant  heaths 
like  an  enormous  stone  bank  ;  but  time  and  occasion  had  been  wanting 
to  me. 

The  village  of  Elven  that  we  traversed,  slackened  our  pace  a  little, 
and  gave  a  striking  representation  of  a  town  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The 
form  of  the  low,  dark  houses  has  not  changed  ftjr  five  or  six  centuries. 
One  thinks  hinaself  dreaming,  when  he  sees  through  the  large  gaps, 
arched)  and  without  sashes,  which  take  the  place  of  windows  in  the 
houses,  these  groups  of  women  with  wild  eyes,  spinning  from  distaffs  in 
the  shade,  and' conversing  in  low  voices  in  an  unknown  language.  It 
seemed  as  if  all  these  greyish  spectres  had  quitted  their  monumental 
slabs  to  enact  some  scene  of  another  age,  of  which  we  were  to  be  the 
sole  living  witnesses.  The  little  life  that  was  visible  in  the  single  street 
of  the  village  bore  the  same  character  of  antiquity  and  faithful  repre- 
sentation of  a  vanished  world. 

A  little  distance  beyond  Elven  we  took  a  cross-road,  which  led  us  up 
a  barren  hill  ;  we  saw  from  its  summit,  although  at  some  distance  from 
us,  the  feudal  ruin  overlooking  a  wooded  height  in  front  of  us  The 
heath  where  we  were  descending  sharply  towards  marshy  meadows  sur- 
rounded with  thick  young  woods.  We  descended  the  slope  and  were 
soon  in  the  woods.  There  we  took  a  narrow  road,  the  rough,  unbroken 
pavement  of  which  resounded  loudly  under  our  horse's  feet.  .  I  had 
ceased  for  some  time  to  see  the  tower  of  Elven,  the  locality  of  which  I 
could  not  even  conjecture,  when  it  rose  out  of  the  foliage  a  few  steps 
before  us,  with  the  suddenness  of  an  apparition.  This  tower  is  not  de- 
cayed )  it  has  preserved  its  original  height,  which  exceeds  a  hundred 
feet,  and  the  regular  layers  of  granite,  which  compose  this  magnificent 
octagonal  structure,  give  it  the  aspect  of  a  formidable  block,  cut  yes- 
terday by  the  purest  chisel.  Nothing  more  imposing,  more  proud,  and 
sombre,  can  be  imagined  than  this  old  donjon,  impassible  to  the  effects 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  81 

of  tim<e,  and  alone  in  these  thick  woods.  The  trees  have  grown  close 
to  its  walls  and  their  tops  reach  to  the  openings  for  the  lower  windows. 
This  growth  of  vegetation  conceals  the  base  of  the  edifice,  and  increases 
its  appearance  of  fantastic  mystery.  In  this  solitude,  surrounded  by 
forests,  and  with  this  mass  of  extraordinary  architecture  in  front  of  us, 
it  was  impossible  not  to  think  of  enchanted  castles,  where  beautiful 
princesses  sleep  a  hundred  years. 

"  Up  to  this  time,"  said  Marguerite,  to  whom  I  tried  to  communicate 
this  idea,  ^'  I  have  seen  no  more  than  what  we  now  see  ;  but  if  you 
wish  to  wake  the  princess,  we  can  enter.  As  far  as  I  know,  there  may 
be  in  the  neighborhood  a  shepherd  or  shepherdess,  who  is  furnished  with 
a  key.  Let  us  fasten  our  horses  and  seek  for  them — you  for  the  shep- 
herd, and  I  for  the  shepherdess. 

The  horses  were  accordingly  fastened  in  a  little  inclosure  near  the 
ruin,  and  we  separated  for  a  moment  to  search  around  the  castle.  But 
we  had  the  vexation  to  meet  neither  shepherd  nor  shepherdess.  Our 
desire  to  see  the  interior  naturally  increased  with  all  the  force  of  at- 
traction which  forbidden  fruit  has  for  us,  and  we  crossed  the  bridge 
thrown  over  the  moat,  at  a  venture.  To  our  great  satisfaction,  the  mas- 
sive door  of  the  donjon  was  not  shut;  we  needed  only  to  push  it  open 
in  order  to  enter  a  corner,  dark  and  encumbered  with  rubbish,  which 
was  probably  the  place  for  the  body-guard  in  former  times  ;  from  thence 
we  passed  into  a  vast  circular  hall,  the  chimney-piece  of  which  still 
showed,  on  its  coat  of  arms,  the  besants  of  the  crusade  ;  a  large  open 
window,  traversed  by  the  symbolic  cross,  plainly  cut  in  the  stone,  light- 
ed distinctly  the  lower  part  of  this  room,  while  the  eye  failed  to  pierce 
the  uncertain  shadows  of  the  lofty,  broken  roof.  At  the  sound  of  our 
steps  an  invisible  flock  of  birds  flew  out  from  the  darkness,  shaking 
down  upon  us  the  dust  of  centuries. 

On  mounting  up  the  granite  steps,  ranged  one  above  the  other  round 
the  hall,  into  the  embrasure  of  the  window,  we  could  overlook  the  deep 
moat  and  the  ruined  parts  of  the  fortress;  but  we  had  noticed  on  our 
entrance  a  flight  of  steps  cut  in  the  thick  wall,  and  we  felt  a  childish 
impatience  to  push  our  discoveries  further.  We,  therefore,  undertook 
to  ascend  this  rude  staircase  ;  I  led  the  way  and  Marguerite  followed 
bravely,  holding  up  her  long  skirts  as  well  as  she  could.  From  the  top 
of  the  flat  roof  the  view  was  vast  and  delicious.  The  soft  tints  of  twi- 
light were  creeping  over  the  ocean  of  half-golden  autumn  foliage,  the 
dark  marshes,  and  the  green  mossy  ground  near  us,  and  the  distant 
ranges  of  hills  mingling  with  and  crossing  each  other.  As  we  gazed 
down  upon  this  melancholy  landscape,  inanité  in  extent,  we  felt  the 
peace  of  solitude,  the  silence  of  evening,  the  sadness  of  the  past,  de- 
scend into  our  hearts. 

This  charm  was  increased,  for  me  at  least,  by  the  presence  of  a  be- 
loved being  ;  all  who  have  loved  will  comprehend  this.  This  hour  eTcr 
of  mutual  contemplation  and  emotion,  of  pure  and  profound  enjoyment, 
was,  without  doubt,  the  last  that  would  be  given  me  to  pass  near  her 
and  with  her,  and  I  clung  to  it  with  a  sad  earnestness.  For  Marguerite, 
I  know  not  what  passed  within  her  ;  she  was  seated  on  the  ledge  of  the 
6 


82  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

parapet,  gazing  silently  at  the  distance.     I  heard  only  the  sound  of  lier 
quickened  breath. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  we  remained  thus.  When  the  mists  spread 
over  the  low  meadows,  and  the  far-oif  hills  became  indistinct  in  the  in- 
creasing darkness,  Marguerite  rose.  "  Let  us  ^^o,"  said  she,  in  a'  low 
voice,  as  if  the  curtain  had  fallen  on  some  regretted  pageant,  "  it  is  fin- 
ished \"  Then  she  began  to"  descend  the  staircase  and  I  followed 
hei*. 

When  we  attempted  to  leave  the  castle,,  to  oîir  great  surprise  we 
found  the  door  closed.  Apparently  the  young  keeper,  ignorant  of  our 
presence,  had  turned  the  key  while  we  were  on  the  roof  Our  first  im- 
pression was  that  of  gaiety.  It  was  actually  an  enchanted  castle  !  I 
made  vigorous  efi'orts  to  break  the  enchantment  ;  but  the  enormous  bolt 
of  the  old  lock  was  solidly  fastened  in  the  granite,  and  I  was  compelled 
to  give  up  the  attempt  to  imfasten  it.  -I  then  attacked  the  door  itself  j 
the  massive  hinges  and  the  oak  pannels,  banded  with  iron,  resisted  all 
my  strength.  Two  or  three  pieces  of  rough  stone  that  I  found  amongst 
the  rubbish  and  that  I  threw  against  this  insuperable  obstacle  to  our 
egress,  had  no  other  result  than  to  shake  the  roof,  fragments  of  which 
■fell  at  my  feet.  Miss  Marguerite  would  not  allow  me  to  pursue  an  en- 
terprise so  evidently  hopeless,  and  which  was  not  without  danger.  Ï 
then  ran  to  the  window,  and  shouted  for  help,  but  nobody  replied.  Du- 
ring the  next  ten  minutes  I  repeated  these  cries  constantly,  but  with 
the  same  lack  of  success.  We  then  employed  the  remaining  daylight 
in  exploring  5iiinutely  the  interior  of  the  castle,  but  we  could  discover 
no  place  of  egress  except  the  door,  as  solid  aa  the  wall  to  us,  and  the 
great  window,  thirty  feet  above  the  bottom  of  the  moat. 

Night  had  now  fallen  over  the  country,  and  darkness  inTaded  the  old 
castle.  Some  rays  of  moonlight  penetrated  the  window,  a&d  fell  upon 
the  stone  steps  beneath  it.  Marguerite  who  had  gradually  lost  all  ap- 
pearance of  sprightliness,  ceased  to  reply  to  the  conjectures,  reasonable 
or  otherwise,  with  which  I  endeavored  to  dispel  her  anxiety.  She  sat 
in  the  shadow  of  the  window,  silent  and  immovable,  but  I  was  in  the 
full  light  of  the  moon  on  the  step  nearest  the  window,  at  intervals  send- 
ing forth  a  cry  of  distress  ;  but  in  truth  the  more  uncertain  the  success 
of  my  efforts  became — the  more  an  irresistible  feeling  of  joyousnesa- 
seized  upon  me.  I  saw  suddenly  realized  the  endless  and  most  impos- 
sible dream  of  lovers;  I  was  alone  in  a  desert  with  the  woman  whom  I 
lo-ved  1  For  long  hours  there  was  only  she  and  I  in  the  world,  only 
her  life  and  mine  !  I  thought  of  all  the  marks  of  sweet  protection,  of 
tender  respect  that  I  should  have  the  right,  the  duty  to  lavish  upon 
her  ;  I  pictured  her  fears  calmed,  her  confidence,  her  sleep  ;  I  said  to 
myself,  that  this  fortunate  night,  if  it  did  not  give  me  the  love  of  this 
dear  girl,  would  at  least  assure  to  n>e  her  most  lasting  esteem. 

•  Aa  I  abandoned  myself  with  all  the  egotism  of  passion  to  my  secret 
ecstasy,  some  reflection  of  which  was  perhaps  painted  on  my  face,  I 
was  suddenly  roused  by  these  words,  addressed  to  me  in  a  toroe  of  af- 
fected tranquility  :  "  Marquis  de  Champcey;.  have  there  been  many 
eowards  in  your  family,  before  you  ?" 

I  rose;  but  fell  back  again  upon  my  stone  seat,  turning  a  stupefied! 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  83 

look  in  t^ie  direction  ^v^1crc  I  saw  the  vague  outline  of  the  young  girl. 
One  idea  alone  occurred  to  nie,  a  terrible  idea,  that  fear  and  anxiety 
had  affected  her  brain — that  she  was  beqoujing  crazy. 

"  Marguerite  !"  I  cried,  without  knowing  even  that  I  spoke.  Thi.'? 
word  completed  her  irritation  doubtless. 

'•  jMy  God  !  How  odious  he  is  I  What  a  coward  I  Yes,  I  repeat  it, 
what  a  coward  1" 

The  truth  began  to  dawn  upon  me.  I  descended  one  of  the  steps. 
''  Well,  what  is  the  matter  ?"  said  I,  coldly. 

"It  is  you,"  she  replied  with  vehemence,"  "you  have  bribed  this  man 
— or  this  child — to  imprison  us  in  this  tower.  ïo-uiorrow  I  shall  be 
lost — dishonored  in  public  opinion — and  I  can  belong  only  to  you — 
such  is  your  calculation,  is  it  not  ?  ■  But  this  plan,  I  assure  you,  will 
not  succeed  better  than  the  others.  You  know  me  very  imperfectly  if 
you  think  I  shall  not  prefer  dishonor,  a  convent,  death,  all  to  the  dis- 
grace of  uniting  my  hand — my  life  to  yours.  And  when  this  infamous 
ruse  had  succeeded,  when  I  had  had  the  weakness — as  certainly  I  shall 
not  have — to  give  you  my  person,  and  what  is  of  more  importance  to 
you,  my  fortune — in  return  for  this  beautiful  stroke  of  policy.  What 
kind  of  a  man  are  you  ?  to  wish  for  wealth,  and  a  wife,  acquired  at 
such  a  price  as  this  ?  Ah,  thank  me  still,  sir,  for  not  yielding  to  your 
wishes  ;  they  imprudent,  believe  me,  for  if  ever  shame  and  public  de- 
rision should  drive  me  into  your  arms,  I  should  have  so  much  contempt 
for  you  that  I  should  break  your  heart  !  Yes,  were  it  as  hard,  as  cold 
as  stone,  I  would  draw  tears  of  blood  from  it." 

"3Iisa  Laroque,"  said  I,  with  ail  the  calmness  I, could  assume,  "T 
beg  }'ou  to  recover  younself,  your  reason.  I  assure  you,  upon  my  hon- 
or., that  you  insult  me.  Will  you  please  to  reflect 't  Your  suspicions 
have  no  probable  foundation.  I  could  not  have  possibly  arranged  the 
base  treachery  of  which  you  accuse  me,  and  how  have  I  given  you  the 
right  to  believe  me  capable  of  it?" 

"All  that  I  know  of  you  gives  me  this  right,"  cried  she,  cutting  the 
air  with  her  riding-whip.  "  I  will  tell  you  for  once  what  has  been  in 
my  soul  for  a  long  time.  You  came  to  our  house  under  a  borrowed 
name  and  character.  W^e  were  happy,  we  were  tranquil,  my  mother 
and  I.  You  have  brought  us  trouble,  disorder,  anxiety,  to  which  we 
were  before  strangers.  In  order  to  attain  your  end,  to  repair  the  loss 
of  your  fortune,  you  have  usurped  our  confidence — you  have  been  reck- 
less of  our  repose — you  have  played  with  our  purest,  truest,  most  sacred 
feelings.  You  have  broken  our  hearts,  without  pity.  That  is  what  you 
have  done — or  wished  to  do — it  matters  little  which.  I  am  very  weary 
of  it  all  I  assure  you.  And  when,  at  this  hour,  you  come  and  pledgo 
mc  your  honor  as  a  gentleman,  I  have  the  right  not  to  believe  it — and 
I  do  not  believe  it ." 

I  was  beside  myself;  I  seized  both  her  hands  in  a  transport  of  ve- 
hemence, which  controlled  her.  "  Marguerite,  my  poor  child,  listen  I 
I  love  you,  it  is  true,  and  never  did  love  more  ardent,  more  disinterest- 
ed, more  holy,  enter  into  the  heart  of  man.  But  you  also,  you  love 
me  ;  you  love  mo,  unfortunate  !  and  you  kill  me  I  You  speak  of  a 
bruised  and  broken  heart.     Ah  !  what  have  vou  done  with  mine  ?  But 


84  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

it  is  yours  ;  I  leave  it  with  you.  As  to  my  honor,  I  will  keep  it — it  h 
untouched.  And  soon  I  will  force  you  to  acknowledge  it.  And  upon 
this  honor,  I  swear  to  you,  that,  if  I  die,  you  will  weep  for  me  ;  that, 
if  I  live,  never  adored  as  you  are — were  you  on  your  kneea  before  me 
— never  will  I  marry  you,  till  you  are  as  poor  as  I,  or  I  as  rich  as  you  ! 
And  now  pray  ;  ask  God  for  miracles,  it  is  time  !" 

I  pushed  her  away  from  the  embrasure  of  the  window,  and  sprung 
upon  the  upper  step  ;  I  had  conceived  a  desperate  plan,  and  I  executed 
it  with  the^  precipitation  of  actual  madness.  As  I  have  before  said, 
the  tops  of  the  beeches  and  oaks,  growing  in  the  moat,  reached  the 
level  of'  the  window.  With  the  aid  of  my  bent  riding-whip,  I  drew 
toward  me  the  extremity  of  the  nearest  branches  ;  I  seized  them  on  a 
venture,  and  leaped  into  space  ;*  I  heard  above  my  head  my  name  ; 
"  Maximilian  !"  uttered  suddenly,  with  a  distracted  cry.  The  branches 
to  which  I  was  clinging  bent  with  their  whole  length  towards  the  abyss; 
then  there  was  a  crashing  sound  ;  the  tree  broke  under  my  weight,  and 
I  fell  heavily  to  the  ground. 

The  muddy  nature  of  the  earth  lessened  the  violence  of  the  shock  ; 
for,  though  I  was  wounded,  I  was  not  killed.  One  of  my  arms  had 
struck  against  the  sloping  masonry  of  the  tower,  and  I  suffered  such 
sharp  pain  in  it  that  I  fainted.  I  was  roused  by  Marguerite's  fright- 
ened voice  ;  "  Maximilian  !  Maximilian  !  For  pity's  sake  !  In  the 
name  of  the  good  God,  speak  to  me  !     Forgive  me  !" 

I  rose,  and  I  saw  her  in  the  opening  of  the  window,  in  the  full  moon- 
light, with  her  head  bare,  her  hair  dishevelled,  her  hand  grasping  the 
arm  of  the  cross,  and  her  eyes  earnestly  fixed  upon  the  ground  below. 

"  Fear  nothing,"  said  I  to  her.  "I  am  not  hurt.  Only  be  patient 
for  an  hour  or  two.  Give  me  time  to  go  to  the  chateau  j  it  is  the  surest. 
Be  certain  that  I  will  keep  your  secret,  that  I  will  save  your  honor  as  I. 
have  saved  mine." 

I  got  out  of  the  moat  with  difficulty,  and  went  to  mount  my  horse.  I 
suspended  my  left  arm,  which  was  wholly  useless  and  very  painful, 
with  my  handkerchief  Thanks  to  the  light  of  the  moon,  I  easily  found 
my  way  back,  and  an  hour  later  I  reached  the  chateau.  I  was  told 
Doctor  Desmarets  was  in  the  saloon  :  I  went  in  at  once,  and  found 
there  some  dozen  persons,  whose  countenances  wore  an  expression  of 
anxiety  and  alarm. 

"  Doctor,"  said  I,  gaily,  on  entering,  "  my  horse  took  fright  at  his 
own  shadow,  and  threw  me  on  the  road,  and  I  am  afraid  my  left  arm  is 
sprained.     Will  you  see  ?" 

,;,  "  How,  sprained  !"  said  Desmarets,  after  unfastening  the  handker- 
chief.    "  Your  arm  is  broken,  my  poor  boy." 

Mrs.  Laroque  gave  a  little  cry,  and  approached  me.  "  This  is 
then  a  night  of  misfortune,"  said  she. 

I  feigned  surprise.     "  What  else  has  happened  ?"  I  cried. 

"  I  fear  some  accident  has  happened  to  my  daughter.  She  went  out 
on  horseback  at  three  o'clock,  and  it  is  now  eight,  and  she  has  not  yet 
returned." 

«  Miss  Marguerite  ?    Why  I  saw  her" 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  85 

^'  How?  Where  ?  At  what  time  ?  Forgive  me,  sir  ;  it  is  the  ego- 
tism of  a  mother." 

"  I  saw  her  about  five  o'clock  on  the  road.  We  met.  She  told  me, 
she  thought  of  riding  as  far  as  the  tower  of  Elven." 

"  The  tower  of  Elven  !  She  must  be  lost  in  the  woods.  We  ought 
to  go  there  promptly.     Let  orders  be  given." 

5lr.  de  Bevallan  at  once  ordered  horses  to  be  brought  out.  I  affect- 
ed a  wish  to  join  the  cavalcade,  but  Mrs.  Laroque  and  the  doctor  posi- 
tively prohibited  it,  and  I  allowed  mjTself  to  be  easily  persuaded  to  seek 
my  bed,  of  which,  in  truth,  I  felt  great  need. 

Doctor  Desraarets,  after  having  applied  a  first -dressing  to  my  injured 
arm,  took  a  seat  in  the  carriage  with  Mrs.  Laroque  who  went  to  the  vil- 
lage of  Elven,  to  wait  there  the  result  of  the  diligent  search  that  ]\Ir. 
de  Bevallan  would  direct  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  tower. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  Alain  came  to  announce  to  me  that 
Marguerite  was  found.  He  recounted  the  history  of  her  imprisonment, 
without  omitting  any  details,  save,  be  it  understood,  those  which  the 
young  girl  and  I  would  alone  know.  The  account  of  the  adventure 
was  soon  confirmed  by  the  doctor,  then  by  Mrs.  Laroque  herself,  and  I 
had  the  satisfaction  to  see  that  no  suspicion  of  the  exact  truth  entered 
the  mind  of  any  one. 

I  have  passed  the  night  in  repeating,  with  the  most  fatiguing  perse- 
verance, and  with  the  oddest  complications  of  fever  and  dreams,  my 
dangerous  leap  from  the  old  tower  window,  I  cannot  become  accus- 
tomed to  it.  At  each  instant  the  sensation  of  falling  through  space 
rises  to  my  throat,  and  I  awake  breathless.  At  length  the  day  dawned, 
and  I  became  calmer.  At  eight  o'clock  Miss  de  Porhoet  came  and  in- 
stalled herself  by  my  bedside,  her  knitting  in  her  hand.  She  has  done 
the  honors  of  my  room  to  the  visitors  who  have  succeeded  each  other 
all  the  day.  Mrs.  Laroque  came  first  after  my  old  friend.  As  she  held 
with  a  long  pressure  the  hand  I  extended  to  her,  I  saw  two  large  tears 
roll  down  her  cheeks.  Has  she  then  been  taken  into  her  daughter's 
confidence  ? 

Miss  de  Porhoet  has  informed  me  that  Mr.  Laroque  has  kept  his  bed 
since  yesterday.  He  has  had  a  slight  attack  of  paralysis.  To-day  he 
cannot  speak,  and  his  state  causes  great  anxiety.  It  has  been  decided 
to  hasten  the  marriage.  Mr.  Laubepin  has  been  sent  for  from  Paris  ; 
he  is  expected  to-morrow,  and  the  marriage  contract  will  be  signed  the 
day  following,  under  his  supervision. 

I  have  set  up  some  hours  this  evening;  but  if  I  am  to  believe  Dr. 
Desmarets,  I  am  wrong  to  write  with  my  fever,  and  I  am  a  great  block- 
head. 


Ociohcr  Zd. 
It  really  seems  as  if  some  malign  power  took  the  trouble  to  devise 
the  most  singular  and  the  most  cruel  temptations  and  to  offer  them  by 
turns  to  my  conscience  and  to  my  heart  !  Mr.  Laubepin  not  having  ar- 
rived this  morning,  Mrs.  Laroque  asked  me  for  some  information  which 


86  •      The  RomaJice  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

she  needed  in  order  to  determine  upon  the  preamble  of  the  contract 
which,  as  I  have  said,  is  to  be  signed  to-morrow.  As  I  am  condemned 
to  keep  m}^  room  for  several  days  longer,  1  begged  Mrs.  Laroque  to 
send  me  the  titles  and  private  papers,  which  were  in  the  possession  of 
her  father-in-law,  and  which  were  indispensable  to  me  in  order  to  solve 
the  difficulties  that  had  been  pointed  out. 

They  soon  brought  me  two  or  three  drawers  filled  with  them,  that 
had  been  secretly  taken  out  of  Mr.  Laroque's  cabinet,  while  the  old 
man  was  asleep,  for  he  had  always  shown  himself  very  jealous  of  his 
private  papers.  In  the  first  which  I  took  up  the  repetition  of  my  own 
family  name  caught  ray  eye,  and  appealed  to  my  curiosity  with  irresis- 
tible force.     This  is  the  literal  text  of  the  paper  : 

'^  TO    MY   CHILDREN. 

"  The  name  that  I  bequeath  to  you  and  that  I  have  honored,  is  not 
my  own.  My  father's  name  was  Savage.  .He  was  manager  of  a  plan- 
tation of  considerable  size  in  the  island,  at  that  time  belonging  to 
France,  of  Saint-Lucie,  owned  by  a  wealthy  and  noble  family  of  Dau- 
phiny,  that  of  the  Champceys  d'Hauterives.  My  father  died  in  1793, 
and  I  inherited,  although  still  quite  young,  the  confidence  they  had 
placed  in  him.  Towards  the  close  of  that  sad  year,  the  French  Antil- 
les were  taken  by  the  English,  or  were  delivered  up  to  them  by  the 
insurgent  colonists.  The  Marquis  de  Champcey  d'Hauterive  (Jacques- 
Auguste),  whom  the  orders  of  the  convention  had  not  then  attainted, 
commanded  at  that  time  the  frigate  Thetis  which  had  cruised  in  these 
waters  for  three  years.  A  large  number  of  French  colonists  scattered 
through  the  Antilles  had  acquired  large  fortunes,  with  the  loss  of  whicb 
they  were  now  daily  threatened.  They  contrived  with  the  aid  of  com- 
mandant CI:j^mpcey  to  organize  a  flotilla  of  Kght  transports,  to  whichi 
they  transferred  all  their  movable  property,  hoping  to  return  to  their 
native  land,  protected  by  the  guns  of  the  Thetis.  I  had  long  before 
received  orders  to  sell  the  plantation  which  I  had  managed  since  my 
father's  death,  at  any  price,  in  view  of  the  impending,  troubles.  On 
the  night  of  the  14th  of  November^  1793,  I  secretly  quitted  Saint 
Lucie,  already  occupied  by  the  enemy,  alone  in  a  boat  from  Cape  Mome- 
au-Sable.  I  carried  with  me  the  sum  for  which  I  had  sold  the  planta- 
tion, in  English  bank  notes. and  guineas.  Champcey,  thanks  to  the 
minute  knowledge  he  had  gained  of  these  coasts,  had  been  able  to  elude 
the  English  cruisers,  and  had  taken  refuge  in  the  difficult  and  obscure 
channel  of  the  Gros-Ilet.  He  had  ordered  me  to  join  him  there  this 
very  night,  and  only  waited  my  coming  on  board  before  issuing  from 
the  channel  with  the  flotilla  under  his  escort,  and  heading  for  France. 
On  the  way  thither,  I  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
English.  My  captors,  masters  in  treachery  as  they  are,  gave  me  the 
choice  to  be  shot  immediately,  or  to  sell  them,  by  means  of  the  niillion 
which  I  had  in  my  possession,  and  which  they  would  abandon  to  me^ 
the  secret  of  the  channel  where  the  flotilla  lay.  I  was  young,  the 
temptation  was  too  strong  ;  a  half  hour  later  the  Thetis  was  sunk,  the 
flotilla  taken,  and  Mr.  de  Champcey  grievously  wounded,  A  year  passed, 


Tlie  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  87 

a  sleepless  year.  I  became  mad,  and  I  resolved  to  revenge  myself  on 
the  accursed  English  for  the  tonnents  which  racked  me.  I  went  to 
(xuadaloupo,  I  changed  uiy  name,  and  devoting  the  greater  part  of  the 
■price  of  my  treason  to  the  purchase  of  an  armed  brig,  I  fell  upon  the 
English.  For  fifteen  years  I  washed  in  their  blood  and  ray  own  the 
stain  I  had  made,  in  an  hour  of  weakness,  on  my  country's  flag.  Al- 
though more  than  three-fourths  of  my  real  fortune  has  been  acquired 
in  glorious  battles,  its  origin  is  none  the  less  as  I  have  stated. 

''  On  my  return  to  France,  in  my  old  age,  I  inquired  into  the  situa- 
tion of  the  Champccys  d'Hauterives;  they  were  happy  and  rich.  I 
continued,  th-ereforc,  to  hold  my  peace.  May  my  children  forgive  me  ! 
I  could  not  gain  courage  to  blush  before  them  while  I  live  ;  but  my 
death  w'îl  reveal  this  secret  to  them  ;  they  will  use  it  according  to  the 
inspiration  of  their  consciences.  For  myself,  I  have  only  one  prayer  to 
make  them  :  there  will  be,  sooner  or  later,  a  final  war  between  France 
and  her  opposite  neighbor  ;  we  hate  each  other  too  much  ;  we  must 
ruin  them,  or  they  will  ruin  us  !  If  this  war  breaks  out  during  the 
lifetime  of  my  children  or  my  grand-ehildrcn,  I  desire  that  they  shall 
present  to  the  government  a  corvette,  armed  and  equipped,  on  the  sole 
condition  that  she  shall  be  named  the  Savage,  and  be  commanded  by  a 
Breton.  At  every  broadside  that  she  sends  on  the  Carthaginian  shore 
my  bones  will  ehake  with  pleasure  in  my  grave  ! 

"lliCHARD  Savage,  called  Laroque." 

The  recollections  that  were  roused  MRny  mind,  on  reading  this 
dreadful  confession,  confirmed  its  correctness.  I  had  heard  mjr  father, 
twenty  times,  relate,  with  a  mixture  of  pride  and  sorrow,  the  incident 
in  my  grandfather's  life  which  was  here  spokeia  of  Only  it  was  be- 
lieved in  my  family  that  Richard  Savage  was  the  victim,  and  not  the 
actor,  in  the  treason  which  had  betrayed  the  commander  of  the  Thcti.s. 

I  now  understood  all  that  had  struck  me  as  singular  in  the  old  sailor, 
îind  in  particular  his  timid  bearing  toward  me.  My  father  had  always 
told  me  that  I  was  the  living  portrait  of  my  grandfather,  the  Marquis 
Jacques;  and  without  doubt  some  glimmering  of  this  resemblance  pen- 
etrated occasionally  his  clouded  brain,  and  even  reached  the  unquiet 
conscience  of  the  poor  old  man. 

Hardly  was  I  master  of  tiiis  secret,  when  I  fell  into  a  terrible  quan- 
<lary.  I  could  not  feel  animosity  against  this  man,  whose  temporary 
lo.ss  of  moral  strength  had  been  expiated  by  a  long  life  of  repentance, 
and  by  a  passionate  despair  and  hatred  which  was  not  wanting  in  gran- 
deur. I  could  not  recognise,  without  a  kind  of  admiration,  the  savage 
spirit  which  still  animated  these  lines,  written  by  a  culpable  but  heroic 
Land. 

But  what  ought  I  to  do  with  this  terrible  secret?  The  first  thought 
which  occurred  to  me,  was,  tiiat  it  would  destroy  all  obstacles  between 
Marguerite  snd  me  ;  that  henceforth  this  fortune,  which  liad  .separated 
UP,  would  be  an  almost  obligatory  bond  between  us,  since  1  alone,  of  all 
the  world,  could  render  it  legitimate,  in  sharing  it  with  her.  In  truth, 
the  secret  was  not  mine  ;  and  although  the  most  innocent  of  chanots 
had  revealed  it  to  me,  strict  probity  demanded,  perhap.'^,  that  I  should 


88  TJie  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

leave  it  to  reach,  in  its  own  good  time,  the  hands  for  -which  it  was  iri  • 
tended;  but  in  waiting  for  this  moment,  that  which  was  irreparable 
would  have  taken  place — and  I  should  allow  it  when  I  could  prevent  ifc 
by  a  single  word  !  And  these  poor  women  themselves,  when  the  day 
came  for  the  fatal  truth  to  make  them  blush,  would,  perhaps,  share  my 
sorrow,  my  despair  !  They  would  be  the  first  to  cry  to  me  "  Ah  !  if  you 
knew  it,  why  did  you  not  speak  ?" 

Well,  no  !  neither  to-day,  nor  to-morrow,  nor  ever,  if  I  can  help  it, 
shall  those  noble  faces  blush  with  shame.  I  will  not  purchase  my  hap- 
piness ât  the  price  of  their  humiliation.  This  secret,  known  only  to 
me,  which  this  old  man,  henceforth  mute  forever,  cannot  betray — this 
secret  exists  no  longer— the  flames  have  devoured  it  ! 

I  had  considered  it  well.  I  know  what  I  have  dared  to  do.  It  was 
a  will — a  testament — and  1 4iave destroyed  it!  Moreover,  it  would  not 
have  benefited  me  alone.  My  sister,  who  is  confided  to  my  care,  would 
have  gained  a  fortune  through  it— and,  without  her  consent,  I  have 
.thrust  her  back  into  poverty  with  my  own  hand.  I  know  all  that.  But 
two  pure,  elevated,  proud  souls  will  not  be  crushed  and  blighted  by  the 
weight  of  a  crime  which  was  foreign  to  them.  There  is  here  a  princi- 
ple of  equity  which  seemed  to  me  superior  to  all  literal  justice.  If  I 
have  committed  a  crime,  in  my  turn  I  will  answer  for  it  !  But  this  in- 
v/ard  struggle  has  wearied  me.     I  can  write  no  longer  Î 


October  AtTi. 
Mr.  Laubepin  arrived  at  length  this  evening.  He  came  for  a  mo- 
ment only,  to  speak  to  me.  He  was  abstracted,  abrupt  and  dissatisfied. 
He  spoke  to  me  very  briefly  of  the  proposed  marriage  : — "  A  very  hap- 
py operation,"  said  he  ;  "a  very  praiseworthy  union  in  all  respects,  where 
nature  and  society  both  find  the  guaranties  that  they  have  a  right  to 
demand  on  such  an  occasion.  Upon  which,  young  man,  I  wish  you  a 
good  night,  and  I  will  go  and  clear  the  ticklish  ground  of  the  prelimi- 
nary articles,  in  order  that  the  car  of  this  interesting  Hymen  may  reach 
its  destination  without  jolting." 

The  contract  is  to  be  signed  at  one  o'clock  to-day,  in  the  saloon,  in 
the  presence  of  friends,  and  the  customary  attendants.  I  cannot  be 
present  at  this  ceremony,  and  I  bless  my  injury,  which  has  saved  me 
from  enduring  this  torture. 

I  was  writing  to  my  little  Helen,  to  whom  I  shall  endeavor  for  the 
future  to  devote  all  ray  thoughts,  when  Mr.  Laubepin  and  Miss  de  Por- 
hoet  entered  my  room.  Laubepin  had  not  failed  to  appreciate  the  many 
virtues  of  my  venerable  friend,  during  his  frequent  visits  to  Laroque, 
and  a  warm,  respectful  attachment  has  existed  for  a  long  time  between 
these  two  old  people.  After  an  interminable  exchange  of  ceremonies, 
salutations  and  bows,  they  took  the  seats  I  had  prepared  for  them,  ana 
began  to  look  at  me  with  an  air  of  great  beatitude. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  is  it  ended  ?" 

"  It  is  ended  !"  they  replied,  in  concert. 

"  Has  everything  gone  on  well  ?" 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  You)ig  Man.  89 

"  Very  well,"  said  Miss  de  Porhoet. 

"  Excellently,"  added  Laubepin.  Then,  after  a  pause,  "  That  Beval- 
Ian  is  gone  to  the  devil  !" 

"  And  young  Helouin  is  on  the  same  road,"  added  Miss  de  Porhoet. 

I  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise  :  *'  Good  God,  v?hat  does  all 
that  mean  V 

"  My  friend,"  said  Mr.  Laubepin,  "  the  proposed  union  presented  all 
the  advantages  desirable,  and  it  would  have  secured  undoubtedly  the 
mutual  happincis  of  the  parties,  if  marriage  were  a  purely  commereial 
association  ;  but  it  is  not  so.  My  duty  in  these  interesting  circum- 
stances was,  since  my  assistance  was  demanded,  to  consult  the  inclina- 
tion of  the  hearts,  and  the  suitableness  of  the  characters,  as  well  as  the 
proportion  of  their  fortunes.  But  I  perceived  from  the  first  that  the 
marriage  in  question  had  the  inconvenience  not  to  exactly  please  any 
one,  neither  my  excellent  friend,  Mrs.  Laroque,  nor  the  amiable  bride, 
nor  the  clearest  sighted  friends  of  these  ladies;  nobody,  in  short,  unless 
it  were  the  bridegroom,  about  whom  I  cared  very  little.  It  is  true  (this 
remark  is  due  to  Miss  de  Porhoet),  it  is  true,  I  said  to  myself,  that  the 
bridegroom  is  gentle" 

"  A  gentleman,  if  you  please,"  interrupted  Miss  de  Porhoet,  in  a 
stern  voice. 

"  Gentleman,"  returned  Laubepin,  accepting  the  amendment;  "  but 
it  is  a  kind  of  gentleman  which  does  not  please  me." 

"  Neither  does  it  please  me,"  said  Miss  de  Porhoet.  "  He  was  one 
of  the  buffoons  of  his  species,  and  resembled  those  mannerless  grooms 
that  we  saw  in  the  last  century,  issue  from  the  English  stables,  under 
the  management  of  the  Due  de  Chartres,  as  a  prelude  to  the  revolu- 
tion." 

"  Oh  !  If  they  had  done  nothing  but  act  as  a  prelude  to  the  revolu- 
tion, one  could  forgive  them,"  said  Laubepin. 

"  I  ask  a  thousand  pardons,  my  dear  sir  ;  but  speak  for  yourself.  Be- 
sides, there  is  no  need  of  discussing  that;  will  yoji  continue?" 

•*  Therefore,"  resumed  Mr.  Laubepin,  "seeing  that  all  were  going 
to  these  nuptials  as  to  a  funeral,  I  sought  for  some  means,  both  honor- 
able and  legal,  not  to  break  our  faith  with  Mr.  de  Bevallan,  but  to  in- 
duce him  to  withdraw  from  the  marriage.  This  was  the  more  allowable, 
because,  in  my  absence  he  had  taken  advantage  of  the  inexperience  of 
my  friend,  Mrs.  Laroque,  and  the  softness  of  my  confrere  from  Rennes, 
in  order  to  secure  himself  most  exhorbitant  interests.  Without  de- 
parting from  the  letter  of  the  articles  agreed  on.  I  succeeded  in  sensi- 
bly modifying  their  spirit.  However,  honor  and  the  protnises  given 
imposed  bounds  I  could  not  break.  The  contract,  in  spite  «f  all  I 
could  do,  remained  quite  a.s  advantageous  as  any  man  could  accept, 
who  possessed  the  least  nobleness  of  soul,  and  tenderness  for  his  future 
wife.  Was  de  Bevallan  this  man  ?  We  must  risk  the  chance  of  that. 
I  confess  to  you  that  I  was  not  unmoved  when  I  began  the  reading  this 
morning  of  this  irrevocable  instrument,  before  an  imposing  audience." 

"  For  myself,"  interrupted  Miss,  "  I  had  not  a  drop  of  blood  in  my 
veins.  The  first  part  gave  so  fine  a  portion  to  the  enemy,  that  I  gave 
up  all  for  lost."  , 


90  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

"Without  doubt,  Miss;  but,  as  we  say,  the  venom  is  in  the  tail,  in 
Cauda  vemmum.  It  was  pleasant,  my  friend,  to  see  the  faces  of  de  Be- 
vallan  and  that  of  my  collea2:ue  from  Rennes,  who  was  present,  when 
I  abrupUy  unmasked  my  batteries.  They  looked  at  each  other  in  si- 
lence at  first,  then  they  whispered  together,  and  finally  they  rose,  and 
approaching  the  table  before  which  I  was  seated,  asked,  in  a  low  voice, 
for  explanations. 

"  '  Speak  aloud,  if  you  please,  gentlemen/  said  I,  to  them  ;  '  there 
is  no  need  of  mystery  here.     What  do  you  wish  ?' 

"  The  spectators  began  to  attend  to  the  conversation.  Mr.  de  Beval- 
lan,  without  riiising  his  voice,  insinuated  that  this  contract  was  a  sus- 
picious work. 

"  '  A  suspicious  work  I'  I  replied,  ip  as  loud  a  voice  as  possible. 
'  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  Is  it  against  Mrs.  Laroque,  against  me, 
or  against  my  colleague  here  present,  that  you  direct  this  strange  im- 
putation V 

"  Chut  !  silence!  no  noise  1'  said  the  notary  from  Rennes,  in  a  pru- 
dent tone;  '  but,  see  ;  it  was  agreed  from  the  first  that  the  marriage 
settlement  should  be  dispensed  with' — - — 

"  '  The  marriage  settlement,  sir  ?  And  where  do  you  find  any  ques- 
tion of  a  marriage  settlement  V 

''  '  Come,  brother,  you  know  very  well  that  you  restore  the  marriage 
settlement  by  a  subterfuge.' 

'*  '  Subterfuge,  brother  !  Permit  me,  as  your  senior,  to  advise  you  to 
erase  that  word  from  your  vocabulary.' 

"  '  But,  really,'  muttered  de  Bevallan,  '  my  hands  are  tied  on  all 
sides  ;  I  am  treated  like  a  little  boy.' 

"  '  How,  sir  ?  What  are  we  doing  here  according  to  you  ?  Is  this 
a  contract  or  a  will  ?  You  forget  that  Mrs.  Laroque  -is  living,  that  her 
father-in-law  is  living,  that  you  are  marrying,  not  inheriting — not  yet, 
at  least,  sir;  have  a  little  patience:  what  the  deuce' 

"  At  these  words,  ^larguerite  rose.  '  That  is  enough,'  said  she.  '  Mr. 
Laubepin,  throw  the  contract  into  the  fire.  Mother,  return  the  gentle- 
man his  presents.'  Then  she  left  the  room  with  the  step  of  an  insult- 
ed queen.  Mrs.  Laroque  followed  her.  At  the  same  moment  I  threw 
the  contract  into  the  fireplace. 

'"  Mr.  Laubepin,' said  de  Bevallan,  to  me,  in  a  threatening  tone, 
'  there  is  some  manœuvre  here,  of  which  I  will  learn  the  secret.' 

*■  '  I  will  tell  it  to  you,'  I  replied,  to  him.  '  A  young  person,  who 
has  a  just  pride  in  herself,  had  conceived  the  fear  that  your  wooing 
was  addressed  solely  to  her  fortune  ;  she  no  longer  doubts  it.  I  have 
the  honor  to  wish  you  a  good  day.' 

"  From  him  I  went  to  find  the  two  ladies,  who,  on  my  faith,  threw 
their  arms  around  my  neck.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards  de  Be- 
vallan quitted  the  chateau  with  my  colleague  from  RenneSv  His  depar- 
ture and  his  disgrace,  had  the  inevitable  result  of  unloosing  the  tongues 
of  the  domestics,  and  his  impudent  intrigue  with  Helouin  was  soon 
known.  The  young  woman,  suspected  for  some  time  past  in  other  re- 
spects, asked  for  her  dismissal,  and  it  was  not  refused  her.  It  is  need- 
less to  add  that  the  ladies  will  secure  hqf  a  comfortable  support.  Well, 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Toilng  Man.  91 

my  lad,  wliat  do  you  say  to  all  this?  Are  you  suffering  more  ?  You 
are  as  pale  as  a  dead  man." 

The  truth  is,  that  this  unlocked  for  news  had  given  rise  to  such  a 
crowd  of  happy  and  painful  feelings  that  T  nearly  fainted. 

Mr.  Laubcpin,  who  was  to  setoutoo  his  return  the  next  morning  at 
sunrise,  came  this  evening  to  say  good-bye.  After  a  few  embarrassed 
words  between  us  he  said  :  "  There,  my  dear  child,  I  am  not  going  to 
question  you  as  to  what  has  taken  plycc  here;  but  if,  by  chance,  you 
need  a  confidant  and  a  counsellor  I  ask  your  preference." 

I  could  not  unbosom  myself  to  a  more  trusty  friend.  I  gave  the 
■worthy  old  man  a  detailed  account  of  all  the  circumstance?  affecting^'Tny 
relations  with  3Iargucrite  since  my  arrival  at  the  chateau.  I  even  read 
him  some  pages  of  this  journal  in  order  to  show  him  more  precisely  the 
etate  of  those  relations,  and  the  statx;  of  my  feelings.  And,  finaHy,  the 
secret  that  I  had  discovered  the  preceding  day  among  the  papers  of 
Mr.  Laroque;  I  concealed  nothing  from  him. 

"When  I  had  ended,  Mr.  Laubcpin,  whose  face  had  become  very 
thoughtful  and  anxious,  replied  ;  "  It  is  useless  to  disguise  from  you 
that  in  sending  you  hither  I  meditated  a  union  between  you  and  ]Miss 
Laroque.  All  went,  at  first,  according  to-  my  wishes.  Your  hearts, 
■which,  in  my  opinion,  are  worthy  of  each  other,  seemed  to  approach 
insensibly;  but  this  strange  adventure  of  which  Elven  was  the  roman- 
tic theatre,  entirely  disconcerts  me,  I  acknowledge.  What  the  deuce, 
my  friend,  to  leap  from  the  window  at  the  risk  of  breaking  your  neck  ; 
this  was,  let  me  tell  you,  a  sufficient  proof  of  your  disinterestedness;  it 
was  quite  superfluous  to  add  to  this  honorable  proceeding,  the  solemn 
oath  never  to  marry  this  poor  child,  except  in  contingencies  which  we 
cannot  possibly  hope  for.  I  pride  myself  on  being  a  man  of  resources, 
but  Town  I  am  incapable  of  giving  you  two  hundred  thou.sand  francs 
a  year,  or  of  taking  them  away  from  Miss  Laroque  1" 

'<  "Well,  sir,  give  me  your  counsel.  I  have  more  confidence  in  you 
than  in  niysclf,  for  I  feel  that  misfortune,  by  constantly  exposing  me  to 
suspicion,  has  roused  in  me  the  sensitiveness  of  honor  even  to  excess. 
Speak.  Will  you  tell  me  to  forget  the  unwise  but  still  solemn  oath 
which,  at  this  moment,  alone  separates  me,  I  believe,  for  the  happiness 
you  have  dreamed  of  for  your  adopted  son  ?" 

Laubepin  rose  and  paced  the  room  for  some  minutes,  with  his  thick 
eyebrows  drawn  down  over  his  eyes  ;  then  stopped,  and  seizing  my 
hand  :  "  Young  man,"  said  he,  "  it  is  true  I  love  you  as  my  own  child; 
but,  were  your  heart  to  break  and  mine  with  yours,  I  cannot  trifle  with 
my  principles.  It  is  bettor  to  exceed  the  demands  of  honor  than  to 
fall  short  of  them  ;  in  the  matter  of  oaths,  all  those  which  are  not  ex- 
acted at  the  point  of  the  sword,  or  the  mouth  of  a  pistol,  should  be  ei- 
ther not  taken   or  if  taken,  should  be  kept.     Such  is  my  opinion." 

"  It  is  also  mine.     I  will  leave  here  to. morrow  with  you." 

"No,  Maximilian,  remain  here  a  little  while  longer.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve in  miracles,  but  I  believe" in  God,  who  rarely  suffers  us  to  perish 
through  our  virtues.  Give  Providence  a  little  time  I  know  that  what 
I  ask  will  require  great  resolution,  but  I   claim  it  formally  of  your 


92  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

friendship.     If,  in  a  month,  you  do  not  receive  any  news  from  me— 
well,  you  shall  leave." 

He  embraced  me,  and  left  me  with  a  peaceful  conscience,  but  a  deso- 
late heart. 


October  12. 

It  is  now  two  days  since  I  left  my  retreat  and  went  to  the  chateau. 
I  had  not  seen  Marguerite  since  the  moment  of  our  separation  in  the 
tower  of  Elven.  She  was  alone  in  the  saloon  when  I  entered  there  ;  on 
recognizing  me  she  made  an  involuntary  movement  as  if  to  withdraw  ; 
then  she  reraairîed  immovable,  her  face  becoming  crimson.  This  was 
contagious,  for  I  felt  myself  flush  to  the  very  roots  of  my  hair. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?"  said  she,  holding  outherhand,  and  pronouncing 
these  simple  words  in  a  voice  so  soft,  so  humble — alas  !  so  tender — that 
1  could  hardly  restrain  myself  from  kneeling  before  her.  But  I  replied 
in  a  tone  of  cold  politeness.  She  looked  sadly  at  me,  then  cast  dowtt 
her  large  eyes  and  resumed  her  work. 

At  that  moment  her  mother  sent  for  her  to  come  to  her  grandfather,, 
whose  state  had  become  very  alarming.  He  lost  his  voice  and  all  pow- 
er of  motion  several  days  previous,  the  paralysis  having  attacked  his 
whole  body  ;  the  last  glimmerings  of  intellectual  life  were  also  extin- 
guished; sensibility  alone  contended  with  disease.  No  one  could  doubt 
that  the  old  man  drew  near  his  end  ;  but  his  energetic  heart  had  so 
strong  a  hold  on  life,  that  the  struggle  promised  to  be  a  long  and  ob- 
stinate one.  From  the  first  appearance  of  danger,  however,  Mrs.  La- 
roque  and  her  daughter  had  been  lavish  of  their  strength,  watching  be- 
side him  day  and  night  with  the  passionate  abnegation  and  earnest  de- 
votion, which  are  the  special  virtue  and  glory  of  their  sex.  But  they 
succumbed  to  fatigue  and  fever  on  the  night  before  last  ;  we  ofiered, 
Desmarets  and  I,  to  supply  their  places  beside  Mr.  Laroque  during 
the  night.  They  consented  to  take  a  few  hours'  repose.  The  doctor, 
very  tired  himself,  soon  announced  to  me  that  he  was  going  to  lie 
down  in  the  adjoining  room.  "  I  am  of  no  lïse  hei'e,"  said  he  ;  "  the 
matter  is  decided.  You  see  he  suffers  no  longer,  the  poor  old  man  !  He 
is  in  a  state  of  lethargy,  which  has  nothing  disagreeable  in  it  ;  he  will 
awake  only  to  die.  Therefore  you  can  be  easy.  If  you  remark  any 
change,  you  will  call  me  ;  but  I  do  not  think  this  will  be  before  to-mor- 
row. In  the  meantime  I  am  dead  with  sleep  !"  and  yawning  aloud,  he 
left  the  room.  His  language,  his  bearing  in  the  presence  of  a  dying 
man,  shocked  me.  He  was  an  excellent  man,  however  ;  but  in  order 
to  render  to  death  the  respect  which  is  due,  it  is  necessary  to  believe  in 
immortal  principle  which  it  sets  free,  not  to  see  merely  the  brute  matter 
which  it  dissolves. 

Left  alone  in  the  sick-room,  I  seated  myself  near  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
the  curtains  of  which  had  been  raised,  and  tried  to  read  by  the  light  of 
a  lamp  that  stood  near  me  on  a  little  table.  The  book  fell  from  my 
hands  :  I  could  think  only  of  the  singular  combination  of  events  which 
gave  to  this  old  man  the  grandson  of  bis  victim,  as  a  witness  and  pro- 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  31an.  93 

tector  of  his  last  sleep.  Then,  in  the  midst  of  the  profound  quiet  of 
the  hour  and  the  place,  I  conjured  up  the  scenes  of  tumult  and  vio- 
lence, of  which  this  life,  now  about  to  close,  had  been  so  full.  I  sought 
for  some  dim  impression  of  them  on  the  face  of  the  sufferer,  but  I  saw 
there  only  the  heaviness  and  premature  repose  of  death.  I  approached 
his  pillow  at  intervals,  to  assure  myself  that  the  vital  breath  still  moved 
in  his  sinking  breist. 

At  length,  towards  the  middle  of  the  night,  an  irresistible  torpor 
seized  me,  and  I  fell  asleep,  my  forehead  leaning  on  my  hand.  I  was 
suddenly  awakened  by  some  mournful  sound  ;  I  raised  my  eyes,  and  I 
felt  a  shivering  in  the  very  marrow  of  my  bones.  The  old  man  was 
half  risen  in  his  bed,  and  had  fixed  upon  me  an  attentive,  astonished 
look,  in  which  shone  a  life  and  an  intelligence  that,  up  to  this  time,  I 
had  never  beheld  in  him.  When  my  eye  met  his  he  trembled  ;  he 
stretched  out  his  crossed  arms,  and  said  to  me,  in  a  supplicating  voice, 
the  strange,  unusual  sound  of  which  suspended  the  very  beating  of  my 
heart  : 

"  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  forgive  me  !" 

I  tried  to  rise,  I  tried  to  speak,  but  in  vain.  I  sat  in  my  chair  like 
one  petrified. 

Again  a  silence,  during  which  the  eyes  of  the  dying  man  had  not 
ceased  tg  plead  to  me,  he  again  spoke  : 

"  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  deign  to  forgive  me  I" 

I  found  power  at  last  to  go  to  him.  As  I  approached,  he  shrunk 
backward,  as  if  to  escape  some  dreadful  contact.  I  raised  one  hand  and 
lowering  it  gently  before  his  eyes  which  were  distended  and  wild  with 
terror  :  I  said  to  him  : 

"  Go  in  peace,  I  forgive  you." 

I  had  not  finished  speaking  these  words,  when  his  withered  face  be- 
came illuminated  with  a  flash  of  joy  and  youth,  and  a  tear  flowed  from 
each  sunken  eye.  He  extended  one  hand  toward  me,  but  suddenly 
clenched  it,  waving  it  threateningly  in  the  air;  I  saw  his  eyeballs  roll 
as  if  a  ball  had  been  sent  to  his  heart, — "The  English,"  he  murmured, 
and  fell  back  upon  the  pillow,  an  inert  mass.     He  was  dead. 

I  called  aloud  quickly;  attendants  came  running  in.  lie  was  soon 
surrounded  by  prayers  aud  pious  tears.  I  withdrew,  deeply  moved  by 
this  extraordinary  scene,  which  would  forever  remain  a  secret  between 
myself  and  the  dead. 

This  sad  family  event  has  caused  numerous  duties  and  cares  to  de- 
volve upon  me  which  have  justified  in  my  own  eyes  my  prolonged  stay 
at  the  chateau.  It  is  impossible  to  conjecture  what  could  have  been 
Mr.  Laubepin's  motives  in  counselling  me  to  defer  my  departure.  What 
can  he  hope  from  this  delay?  It  seems  to  me  that  he  yielded  in  this 
case  to  a  fueling  of  vague  superstition  and  puerility,  to  which  a  mind 
tempered  like  his  should  never  have  bowed,  and  which  I  was  wrong 
m3'self  in  submitting  to.  Did  he  not  undcrntand  that  he  was  imposing 
on  me  a  part  entirely  wanting  in  openness  and  dignity,  besides  the  in- 
crease of  useless  suffering  ?  Could  not  one  justly  reproach  me  now 
with  trifling  with  sacred  feelings?  My  first  interview  with  Marguerite 
had  sufficicd  to  reveal  to  me  all  the  severity  of  the  test  I  am  condemned 


94  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

to,  but  the  death  of  Mr.  Laroque  has  given  a  little  naturalness  to  my 
relations  with  her,  and  propriety  to  my  continued  stay. 


Eennes,  Octoler  2G. 

The  last  word  is  spolcen — My  God  !  How  strong  was  this  tie  !  How 
it  has  rent  my  heart  to  break  it  !  • 

Last  night  at  nine  o'clock  I  was  surprised  as  I  sat  at  my  open  win- 
dow, to  see  a  faint  light  approaching  my  dwelling  through  the  dark  al- 
leys of  the  park  and  from  a  different  direction  to  that  used  by  the  ser- 
vants at  the  chateau.  An  instant  afterwards  some  one  knocked  at  my 
door  arid  Miss  de  Porhoet  entered,  breathless.  '■'  Cousin/'  said  she,  I  have 
business  with  you." 

I  looked  in  her  face.     "  Is  there  some  new  misfortune  ?" 

*^  No,  it  is  not  exactly  that.  You  shall  judge  of  i^  yourself.  Sit 
down,  my  dear  child,  you  have  spent  two  or  three  evenings  at  the  cha- 
teau in  the  course  of  this  week  :  liave  you  observed  anything  new  or 
singular  in  the  bearing  of  the  ladies  ?" 

"^  Nothing." 

"  Have  you  not,  at  least,  remarked  in  their  faces  an  expression  ot  un- 
usual serenity.  • 

"Perhaps  so,  yes.  Aside  from  the  melancholy  of  their  recent  afflic- 
tion, they  have  seemed  to  me  calmer  and  even  happier  than  formerly." 

"  Without  doubt.  You  would  have  been  struck  by  other  peculiari- 
ties if  you  had,  like  me,  lived  fifte^i  years'  in  their  daily  intimacy. 
Thus  I  have  lately  often  surprised  some  sign  of  secret  intelligence  of 
mysterious  complicity  between  them.  Besides,  their  habits  are  percep- 
tibly changed.  Mrs.  Laroque  has  put  aside  her  brasero,  her  easy-chair 
with  its  turret,  and  her  innocent  Creole  fancies;  she  rises  at  fabulous 
hours,  and  seats  herself  with  Marguerite,  at  their  work-table.  They 
have  both  become  passionately  fond  of  embroidery,  and  have  enquired 
how  much  money  a  woman  can  earn  daily  at  this  kind  of  work.  In 
short,  it  has  been  an  enigma  to  which  I  have  striven  to  discover  the 
clue.  This  has  just  been  disclosed  to  me,  and  without  intruding  upon 
your  secrets,  I  have  thought  it  right  to  communicate  it"  to  you  without 
delay." 

On  my  protestations  of  the  entire  confidence  I  would  gladly  repose 
in  her,  Miss  de  Pothoet  continued  in  her  sweet  firm  style.  "  Mrs. 
Aubrey  came  secretly  to  see  me  this  evening  ;  she  began  by  throwing 
her  two  covetous  arms  around  my  neck,  which  greatly  displeased  me  ; 
then  with  a  thousand  jeremiads  that  I  will  spare  you,  she  begged  me 
to  stop  her  cousins,  who  were  on  the  brink  of  ruin.  This  is  what  she 
has  learned  by  listening  at  the  doors  according  to  her  delicate  custom  ; 
these  ladies  are  solicititig  at  this  moment,  the  authorization  of  giving 
all  their  property  to  a  church  at  llennes,  in  order  to  destroy  the  ine- 
quality of  fortune  between  Marguerite  and  you,  which  now  separates 
you.  Being  unable  to  make  you  rich,  they  intend  to  make  themselves 
poor.  It  seemed  impossible  cousin,  to  leave  you  ignorant  of  this  deter- 
mination, equally  worthy  of  those  generous  hearts,  and  those  childish 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.  05 

heads.  You  -nill  forgive  mc  for  adding  that  your  duty  is  to  thwart  this 
design  at  any  cost.  What  repentance  it  prepares  lor  our  friends,  wliat 
terrible  responsibility  it  threatens  you  vith,  it  is  needless  to  tell  you  ; 
you  will  understand  it  all  as  well  aa  I,  at^rst  sight.  If  you  could,  niy 
friend,  receive  Marguerite's  hand  at  once,  that  would  be  the  best  end- 
ing in  the  world,  but  you  arc  bound  in  this  respect,  by  a  promise  which, 
blind,  imprudent  as  it  was,  is  none  the  less  obligatory  on  you.  There 
Tçniains,  then,  only  one  tiling  for  you  to  do,  to  leave  this  country  without 
delay,  and  to  crush  resolutely  all  the  hopes  your  presence  here  inevit- 
ably keeps  alive.  When  you  arc  gone  it  will  be  easier  for  me  to  bring 
these  children  back  to  reason. 

"  Well  !  I  am  ready;  I  will  set  out  this  very  night." 

"  That  is  right,"  she  replied.  "  In  giving  you  this  advicej  I  have 
myself  obeyed  a  very  harsh  law  of  honor.  You  charm  the  last  hours 
of  my  solitude;  you  have  restored  the  illusions  of  the  swoetes-t  attach- 
ments of  life,  which  I  had  lost  for  many  years.  In  sending  you  away 
I  make  my  last  sacrifice,  and  it  is  very  great."  She  rose  and  looked  at 
jne  a  moment,  without  speaking.  "  One  does  not  embrace  young  men, 
at  my  age,"  she  resumed,  with  a  sad  smile,  ''  one  blesses  them.  Adieu, 
dear  Child,  may  the  good  God  help  you."  1  kissed  her  trembling  hands^ 
and  she  left  me. 

I  hastily  made  my  preparations  for  departure,  then  I  wrote  a  ÏQVt 
lines  to  Mrs.  Laroque.  1  begged  her  to  abandon  a  determination,  the 
consequences  and  extent  of  which  she  could  not  measure,  and  to  which 
I  was  firmly  determined,  for  my  part,  to  bo  in  no  way  an  acces.sory.  I 
gave  her  my  word — and  she  knew  she  could  rely  on  it — that  T  would 
never  accept  my  happiness  at  the  price  of  her  ruin.  In  conclusion^  in 
order  the  better  to  divert  her  from  her  foolisli  design,  I  spoke  vaguely 
of  an  approaching  future  where  I  pretended  to  sec  glimpses  of  fortune. 

At  midnight,  when  all  were  asleep,  I  said  farewell,  a  painful  fare- 
•well,  to  nsy  retreat,  to  this  old  tower,  where  I  have  suffered  and  loved 
so  deeply  1  and  I  crept  into  the  chateau  by  a  private  door,  the  key  of 
which  had  been  confided  to  me.  I  stealthily  cro.sscd  the  galleries,  now 
empty  and  resounding,  like  a  criminal  guiding  my.-elf  as  well  as  I  could 
in  the  darkness;  at  length  I  leached  the  saloon  where  I  had  seen  Mar- 
guerite for  the  first  time.  She  and  her  mother  could  hardly  have  quit- 
ted it  an  hour  before  ;  their  recent  presence  was  betrayed  by  a  soft 
sweet  perfume  that  intoxicated  me.  I  sought  for  and  found  her  basket 
in  which  her  hand  had  just  replaced  her  newly  begun  embroider}- — 
Alas!  my  poor  heart  !  1  fell  on  my  knees  by  her  chair  and  there,  with 
my  forehead  throbbing  against  the  cold  marble  of  the  table  I  sobbed 
like  an  infant  ! 

Oh  !  how  I  have  loved  her  ! 

I  profited  by  the  remaining  liours  of  night  to  be  secretly  driven  to 
the  little  neighboring  town,  where  I  took  this  morning  the  carriage  fo: 
Rennes.  To-morrow  night  I  thall  be  in  Paris.  Poverty,  solitude,  de- 
spair— all  that  I  left,  there,  I  shall  find  them  again  !  Last  dream  of 
youth,  of  heaven,  farewell  1 


96  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

Paris. 

The  next  morning  as  I  was  about  going  to  the  railroad,  a  post-chaise 
entered  the  courtyard  of  the  hotel,  and  I  saw  old  Alain  descend  from 
it.  His  face  lighted  up  when  he  saw  me.  "  Ah  !  sir,  how  lucky  !  you  are 
not  o-one  !  Here  is  a  letter  for  you  !"  I  recognized  the  handwriting  of 
Mr.  Laubepin.  He  told  me  in  two  lines  that  Miss  de  Porhoet  was  se- 
riously ill,  and  that  she  asked  for  me.  I  took  time  only  to^  change 
horses,  and  threw  myself  into  the  chaise,  compelling  Alain,  with  great 
difficulty,  to  take  the  seat  opposite  me. 

I  then  pressed  him  with  questions,  and  made  him  repeat  the  incredi- 
ble news  he  brought  me..  Miss  de  Porhoet  had  received  the  evening 
before  an  official  paper  conveyed  to  her  by  Laubepin,  informing  her 
that  she  was  put  in  full  and  complete  possession  of  the  estates  of  her 
Spanish  relatives.  "  And  it  seems,"  added  Alain,  ^'  that  she  owes  it  to 
you,  sir,  who  discovered  in  the  pigeon-house  some  old  papers  which  no- 
body knew  of,  and  which  have  established  the  old  lady's  right  and  title. 
I  do  not  know  how  much  truth  there  Is  in  that;  but  if  it  be  so,  the 
more  pity,  said  I  to  myself,  that  she  has  got  such  ideas  in  her  head 
about  a  cathedral,  and  which  she  will  not  let  go  of— for,  take  notice, 
that  she  holds  to  them  more  than  ever,  sir.  At  first,  when  the  news 
came,  she  fell  stiff  on  the  floor,  and  it  was  thought  she  was  dead  ;  but 
an  hour  afterwards  she  began  to  talk,  without  end  or  rest,  about  her 
cathedral,  of  the  choir  and  the  nave,  of  the  chapter-house,  and  the  ca- 
nons, of  the  north  aisle  and  the  south  aisle,  so  that  in  order  to  calm 
her,  an  architect  and  masons  were  sent  for,  and  all  the  plans  of  her 
cursed  edifice  were  placed  around  her  on  her  bed.  At  length,  after 
three  hours'  conversation  with  them,  she  fell  asleep  ;  on  waking  she 
asked  to  see  My  Lord  Marquis  (Alain  bowed  shutting  his  eyes)  and  I 
was  sent  after  him.     It  seems  she  wishes  to  consult  you  about  the 

lobby." 

This  strange  event  caused  me  great  surprise.  But  with  the  help  of 
my  memory,  and  the  confused  details  given  me  by  Alain,  I  arrived  at 
an  explanation  of  the  matter  which  subsequent  information  soon  con- 
firmed. As  1  have  before  said,  the  question  of  the  succession  of  the 
Spanish  branch  of  the  Porhoet  family  had  two  phases.  There  was, 
first,  a  protracted  lawsuit  between  Miss  de  Porhoet  and  a  noble  house 
of  Castile,  which  my  old  friend  lost  on  its  final  trial;  then,  a  new  suit, 
in  which  she  was  not  involved,  between  the  Spanish  heirs  and  the 
crown,  which  claimed  that  the  property  in  question  devolved  to  it  by 
escheatage.  During  these  transactions  a  singular  paper  fell  into  my 
hands,  as  I  was  pursuing  my  researches  in  the  archives  of  the  Porhoets, 
two  months  before  my  departure  from  the  chateau,  I  will  copy  it  lite- 
rally : 

"  Don  Philip,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King  of  Castile,  Leon  and  Ara- 
gon, of  the  two  Sicilies,  Jerusalem,  Navarre,  Granada,  Toledo,  Valen- 
cia, Galicia,  Seville,  Cardova,  Cadiz,  Murcia,  Jaen,  Algesiras,  Gibraltar, 
the  Canary  Island,  the  East  and  West  Indies,  Archduke  of  Austria, 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  of  Brabant,  and  Milan,  Count  of  Hapsburg, 
Flanders,  of  Tyrol  and  Barcelona,  seigneur  of  Biscay  and  Molina,  etc. 


The  Rimancc  of  a  Poor  Young  3Ian.  97 

^' To  (hoc,  Ilorve  Joan  Jooelyn,  piour  do  Poihootriacl,  Count  of 
Torres  Nuevas,  etc.,  who  hast  fullowed  me  in(p  my  dominions,  and  hast 
served  me  with  oxemphiry  fidelity,  I  promise  as  a  special  favor  that,  \n 
case  of  the  extinction  of  thy  direct  and  louitiinate  heirs,  the  property 
of  thy  house  shall  return,  even  to  the,  detriment  of  the  riji;hts  tif  my 
crown,  to  the  direct  and  Iep;itimate  heirs  of  the  Krench  brunch  of  thrt 
Porhoets-Gael,  so  lon^r  as  it  shall  exist. 

"  And  1  promise  this  for  me  ar,d  my  successors  upon  my  faith  and 
kingly  word. 

"  CJiven  at  the  Escurial,  the  10th  of  April,  ITltî. 

"  Yo  EL  Key." 


Aside  from  this  paper,  which  was  only  a  translation,  I  found  the  orlpr- 
inal,  bearing  the  royal  seal.  The  importance  of  this  docuirent  did  not 
escape  me,. but  I  was  fearful  of  exaggerating^  it.  I  doubted  greatly 
whether  the  validity  of  a  title,  over  which  so  many  years  had  passed, 
would  be  admitted  by  the  Spanish  government;  1  doubted  also  wheth- 
er it  would  have  the  power,  if  it  had  the  will,  to  niak>  it  good.  I  de- 
cided therefore  to  leave  Miss  de  Porhoet  in  ignorance  of  a  discovery,  the 
result  of  which  was  so  problematical,  and  limited  myself  ^o  sending  the 
title  to  Mr.  Laubepin.  Having  received  no  news  respecting  it,  I  had 
forgotten  it  an)idst  the  personal  anxieties  which  had  overwhelmed  me. 
Contrary  to  my  unjust  suspicions,  the  Spanish  government  had  not; 
hesitated  to  redeem  the  kingly  promise  of  Philip  V.,  and  as  soon  as  a 
supreme  decree  had  adjudged  the  immense  property  of  the  Porhoets  to 
the  crown,  it  nobly  restored  them  to  the  legitimate  heir. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  at  night,  when  I  descended  from  the  carriage  at 
the  threshold  of  the  humble  house  where  this  almost  royal  fortune  had 
80  tardily  come.  The  little  servant  opened  the  door.  She  was  weep- 
ing. 1  heard  the  grave  voice  of  Mr.  Laubepin  saying  at  the  head  of 
the  staircase  :  "  It  is  he!"  I  hastened  up  the  stairs.  The  old  man 
grasped  my  hand  firmly,  and  led  me  into  ^liss  de  Porhoet's  chamber, 
without  speaking.  The  doctor  and  the  Curé  of  the  town,  stood  silently 
in  the  shade  of  a  window.  Mrs.  Jiaroque  was  kneeling  on  a  hassock 
near  the  bed  :  her  daughter  was  at  the  bed's  head  supporting  the  pil- 
lows upon  which  reposed  the  head  of  my  poor  friend.  When  the  suf- 
ferer perceived  me,  a  feeble  smile  spread  over  her  features,  now  sadly 
changed  ;  she  extended  one  hand,  but  with  evident  pain.  I  took  it  as 
I  kneeled  beside  her,  and  I  could  not  restrain  my  tears.  "  My  child  !" 
said  she,  "my  dear  child  I"  Then  she  looked  earnestly  at  Mr.  Laube- 
pin. The  old  notary  took  up  from  the  bed  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  ap- 
peared to  continue  an  interrupted  reading  : 

"  For  these  rca.sons,  I  appoint  by  this  will,  written  by  my  own  hand, 
Maximilian  Jacques  Marie^Odiot,  Marquis  de  Champccy  d'llauterive, 
noble  in  heart^as  well  as  by  birth,  general,  legatee  of  all  my  property 
both  it)  France  and  in  Spain,  without  reserve  or  condition.  Such  is  my 

will."  <*  JOCELYNDE    Je.\NNE, 

Counters  dc  Porhoet-Gael." 


98  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

In  the  excess  of  my  surprise,  I  rose  abruptly  and  was  about  to  speak," 
■when  Miss  dc  Porhoet,  dsjnving  my  hand  gently  baclc,  placed  it  in  Mar- 
guerite's. The  dear  girl  started  at  this  sudden  contact,  and  laying  her 
blushing  face  on  the  pillow,  whispered  a  few  words  into  the  dying  wo- 
man's ear.  For  myself,  I  could  not  speak  ;  I  could  only  fall  on  my 
knees  and  thank  God.  Several  minutes  passed  thus  in  solemn  silence, 
when  Marguerite  suddenly  withdrew  her  band  from  mine,  and  made  a 
sign  of  alarm.  The  doctor  approached  hastily  ;  I  rose.  Miss  de  Por- 
hoet's  head  had  fallen  backward;  her  face  was  radiant  with  joy,  and 
her  eyes  turned  upward  as  il  fixed  on  heaven;  her  lips  half  opened, 
and  she  spoke  as  it  in  a  dream  :  "  Oh  God  !  Good  God  !  I  see  it — up 
there  Î  yes — the  choir — the  golden  lamps — the  windows — the  sun,  shi- 
ning everywhere  !  Two  angels  kneeling  before  the  altar — in  white 
robes — their  wings  move — they  are  living  !"  This  exclamation  was 
smothered  on  her  lips,  on  which  the  smile  remained;  she  shut  her 
eyes  as  if  falling  asleep,  then  suddenly  a  look  of  immortal  youth  spread 
over  her  face. 

Such  a  death,  crowning  such  a  life,  was  full  of  instruction  to  njy  s(iul 
I  begged  them  to  leave  me  alone  with  the  piiest  in  the  chamber.  This' 
pious  watching  will  not  be  lost  to  me  I  hope.  More  than  one  forgotten 
or  doubtful  truth  appeared  to  me  with  irresistible  evidence  upon  that 
face  stamped  with  a  glorious  peace.  My  noble  and  sainted  friend  !  I 
knew  that  you  had  the  virtue  of  self-sacrifice;  I  saw  that  you  had  re- 
ceived your  reward  ! 

Some  hours  alter  midnight,  yielding  to  fatigue  I  went  to  Tjreathe  the 
fresh  air  for  a  moment.  1  descended  the  staircase  in  the  dark,  and 
avoiding  the  saloon,  where  I  saw  a  light,  I  entered  the  garden.  The 
night  was  extremely  dark.  As  I  approached  the  turret  at  the  end  of 
the  little  inclosure,  I  heard  a  slight  noise  under  the  elm-tree  ;  at  the 
same  instant  an  indistinct  form  disengaged  itself  from  the  foliage.  My 
heart  beat  violently,  my  sight  grew  dim,  I  saw  the  sky  fill  with  stars. 
"  Marguerite  !"  I  said,  stretching  out  my  arms.  I  heard  a  little  cry, 
then  my  name  murmured  softly,  then — then  I  felt  her  lipsjneet  mine  ! 

I  have  given  Helen  half  my  fortune;  Marguerite  is  my  wife.  I  close 
these  pages  forever.  I  have  nothing  more  to  confide  to  them.  That 
can  be  said  of  men,  which  has  been  said  of  nations  :  "  Happy  those 
^vho  have  no  history  !" 

THE   END. 


.^■. 


-p^y^ 


A 


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